The Lady, the Horseman, and the Shower
by HiddenValor
Summary: My friends back at school like to joke that there is a portal to Narnia in their shower. Nobody knew, however, that there was a portal to Middle-earth in mine. Experiment with Self-insert. CanonOC unrequited and OCxOC. Mostly movie-verse.Ch 15 up finally!
1. Cold, Naked, Wet, and Dirty

A/N: Warning! This is a blatant self-insertion. I've read some really good self-insertions and decided to give it a try for myself. The tone is intended to be serious, but with a few sprinkles of humor—but you don't have to take it seriously if you don't want to. Please review at your leisure—constructive criticism is preferred.

Double Warning! Expect the unexpected…/_lifts eyebrow and grins mysteriously/_

Disclaimer: I do not own anything about _The Lord of the Rings_. I do own myself and any other OC's that may show up later. There are real-life people mentioned here, but their names (including mine) have been changed for their privacy's sake.

XxXxXxx

Summary: My friends back at school like to joke that there is a portal to Narnia in their shower. Nobody knew, however, that there was a portal to Middle-earth in mine. Experiment with Self-insert. CanonOC unrequited and OCxOC. Mostly movie-verse.

XxxXxxX

What a sight I must have been!

I fell flat on my face, wrapped only in a purple towel and dripping wet. I had just stepped out of the shower—fallen out, actually—I got my foot caught on rim of the tub.

But it wasn't there anymore.

I sat up and looked around, searching in vain for my missing shower. When I decided that I couldn't find it from where I was, I got up and walked around, almost losing my towel in the process. I hastily wrapped it around my body again, keeping a firm hold on it. I was embarrassed enough already; I had come to terms with my less-than-perfect body, but was hardly willing to show it off to the whole world. The last thing I needed was to lose the only thing I had that passed as a garment.

"Where am I?" I whispered. A silly thought struck me. My friend back at school joked about having a portal to Narnia in his shower. Could it be true, except that the portal was in _my_ shower? Could I be in Narnia? I felt stupid for even considering the possibility. People don't just randomly fall into alternate dimensions.

Pondering a more important question, however, left me a little rattled. How am I going to get back? I didn't know anything about wilderness survival tactics. I didn't even have any clothes. _What am I going to do?_ I took a deep breath to quell the sudden onslaught of panic. With a fearful quiver, I looked around for anything that could be helpful.

The first thing I noticed about my new surroundings was the overabundance of trees. They looked old, some gnarled and knotted like an old man's arthritic joints, and some thick and hunched over with the weight of their branches. Large tree roots rippled all along the ground and around randomly-placed boulders, intertwining with each other. Branches seemed to crowd together, blocking most of the sunlight from passing through their dense curtain.

The smell of the place was also very distinct. Its musty dampness tickled my nose, giving me the urge to sneeze. I gently pinched my nose to make the urge go away, but I still sneezed about five seconds later, the kind of sneeze that travels a million miles per hour from your feet to your face. I staggered backward, tripping over a tree root and landing onto a moss-covered boulder.

"My sciatica's not gonna like that," I moaned. I picked myself up again and tried to dust off some of the dirt, but the stuff only clung to my wet legs and smeared when I tried to wipe it off. There was probably caked mud on my face as well. _Fantastic. I'm cold, naked, wet, _and_ dirty! _Actually, the air wasn't really that cold. It was just…heavy.

A deep wooden groan thrummed through the air. My breath quickened, and my body froze. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled not fifty feet from where I was standing. I finally tore my feet away from the ground and scurried behind the base of a large tree.

"What do trees have to talk about, hmm?" said a voice nearby. It was gruff and gravelly with a heavy Scottish-like lilt. "Except the consistency of squirrel droppings."

I huddled farther behind the tree as three men emerged from a small grouping of trees close by. I hoped I had not been seen. Their faces looked vaguely familiar to me, but somehow I couldn't identify them.

The fairest was a tall and slender blonde man with a bow and quiver slung behind his back. He was dressed in forest colors—greens, browns, and a little gray. What struck me as particularly odd about him were the little pointed apexes on the tops of his ears—an elf, maybe? I was rather intimidated by the fact that he seemed unnaturally tense.

In stark contrast, one of them was short and stocky with bushy auburn hair that had been braided into his equally thick beard. He wore a heavy helmet decorated with overlapping gold designs, and he carried several mean-looking battle-axes on his person. He must have been the one I had heard speaking not ten seconds ago.

The final man was tall like the first, but not as slender, as if he had much bulkier muscle underneath his black tunics; his form seemed to exude regality and a sort of quiet dignity, commanding respect. His hair was dark and unkempt, accented with a few streaks of silver. It was the same color as mine; maybe that's why I decided that I liked him the most out of the three. He followed closely to the elf, speaking quietly and urgently in some language I didn't understand.

The elf's gaze suddenly jumped extremely close to my hiding place. I fancied his gaze passed over me, but he said nothing to alert the others to my presence. "The White Wizard approaches," he whispered. His voice was sweet and mellow, inflecting beautifully when pronouncing his consonants. I felt my heart twinge, accompanied by the sudden urge to glomp him. Why I had this compulsion, I have no idea, but it left me quite confused.

"Do not let him speak," the dark man said. "He will put a spell on us."

I heard the scrape of metal against its scabbard as the dark man partially withdrew his sword. The short man's leather gloves creaked as he tightened his grip on a pair axes with rounded blades. The elf discreetly knocked an arrow to his bowstring.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my towel and held my breath.

"We must be quick."

Just as the dark man drew his sword and turned to strike, a bright white light burst from between the trees. It was so bright that I swore it could have burned my retinas if I looked long enough, but one moment was one too many; a searing pain shot through my brain like a bullet. I instinctively snapped my hand to my face to cover my eyes with such force that I lost my balance and my towel. With a terrified yelp, I quickly righted myself and gripped my towel, sinking as far as I could go into hiding behind the tree.

Against my better judgment, I peeked around the other side of the tree. The three men had been disarmed and were now in the presence of a fourth—the White Wizard, presumably—who was shrouded in light so I could not see his face. I could see his staff, however; it was tall, slim, and perfectly cylindrical with an elegantly carved diamond-like structure as its crown.

I rubbed my eyes to try to ease the pain, but my vision began to blur. I blinked several times and held onto the rough bark of the tree for support should my vision fail completely. Who in the world could have made such a bright light? It almost seemed that this "White Wizard" had brought his own personal sun with him.

At length, he spoke, his voice deep and ominous, yet slightly amused, but I was so focused on the pain between my eyes that I only caught snippets of the following conversation—something about some missing hobbits.

Finally, the Wizard stepped forward, shifting his staff from one hand to the other, and the bright light receded from him. It was quite obvious why he was called the White Wizard, for indeed, he was clad in white, from the hair on his head to the soft boots on his feet. In appearance he seemed quite old, but in countenance age could not bind him.

He raised a bushy eyebrow, slightly bemused.

"It cannot be," the dark man whispered. His square jaw slackened, and his eyes widened in wonder.

The Elf knelt down on one knee in reverence. "Forgive me," he said meekly. "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman," the Wizard replied, smiling. "Or rather, Saruman as he should have been."

A crease formed between my eyebrows. Why did this seem so familiar? I've been known to have terrible déjà vu, but this was ridiculous! This forest, these men, the Wizard—where have I seen this before?

The dark man stepped forward. "Gandalf," he said quietly, his eyebrows drawn together and a little smile pulling at his lips.

"Gandalf?" the Wizard replied. His eyes darted back and forth as if he was accessing some memory hidden deep within his mind. "Yes, that is what they used to call me," he said thoughtfully. "Gandalf the Grey—that was my name." He drew the corner of his mouth up in a smirk. "I am Gandalf the White."

_Click._

I gasped and looked away. There was no way I was in Narnia. I pinched myself on the arm to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

I was in Middle-earth!

There's a portal to Middle-earth _in my shower_!

I laughed at the thought, and then clapped a hand over my mouth, afraid they would hear. I was especially self-conscious about meeting Gandalf wearing only a bath towel. What a wonderful first impression that would make!

Come to think of it, in middle school I had been so obsessed with Lord of the Rings that I prayed _fervently_ that God would create a portal to let me go to Middle-earth. I had been genuinely disappointed when nothing happened, but in the back of my mind I had known it wouldn't work. I suppose God had now seen fit to grant me my wish—while I was in the shower.

No one ever said God didn't have a sense of humor.

I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that I hadn't seen Gandalf approach my hiding place. I jumped and yelped in surprise when I turned and found him kneeling beside me. He looked me up and down with a quirk in his heavy eyebrow, amusement flittering in his bright gray eyes. "Um, hi," I said awkwardly, berating myself for not saying something more profound. This was _Gandalf_ after all.

"Hello, young lady," he replied. "It seems you have lost your way."


	2. I Miss My Mattress

So there I was, crouching in front of Gandalf the White and wearing only a bath towel. I was sure my hair was just as un-presentable. Blood rushed to my cheeks, making them tingle and burn.

Fortunately for me, Gandalf didn't seem embarrassed or awkward. He merely smiled at me and said, "Would you like some more—_appropriate_ garments?"

I nodded weakly and took the hand he offered me, clutching my towel tighter in anticipation of the others' astonished stares. "It's all right, gentlemen," Gandalf said. "She will do you no harm."

"How do we know you're not some spy of Saruman's, hmm?" Gimli demanded, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Isengard is not far."

"Well, I—I…" I stammered. I tried to think of a really smart answer, but came up short. I inwardly kicked myself because I knew that _later_ I would think of something cool to say. I was never good at spur-of-the-moment wit. "Well, I'm not," I said lamely. I looked down at my rather embarrassing appearance and added, "And besides, I don't think a spy of Saruman would let themselves get caught half-naked."

The stout dwarf grunted. "I suppose not," he said. "But I have seen stranger things."

Gandalf took this opportunity to hand me a one-piece robe and a pair of breeches; wait, why would he have spare clothes? Well, I suppose he snagged some from the same place where he got his regular outfit, but I thought it best not to ask such silly questions and be grateful that I had something to wear other than my towel.

I muttered my thanks and hid myself behind a tree. The four gentlemen graciously turned their backs to me to preserve my modesty. Needless to say, Gandalf's robe was much too big for me; I had to gather up fistfuls of the skirt just to give my feet room enough to walk without tripping. I was also a little uncomfortable without a bra, but I would just have to make do. I suppose _not _being ample-endowed worked in my favor this time.

"What is your name, lass?" Gimli asked.

"I'm Rebecca," I replied while trying to situate the robe comfortably on my body. "Does anybody have an extra belt or rope or something?" I asked. Aragorn glanced at my discarded towel, struck with an idea.

"Give me a moment," he said and picked up the towel. He deftly drew his curved dagger from his belt and cut the towel into strips about three fingers in width. He tied the strips together end to end in secure Elven knots and handed me the make-shift belt. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and these are my companions, Legolas of Mirkwood, Gimli son of Gloin, and Gandalf the White."

"Thanks, it's a pleasure to meet you," I said with amusement and fastened the towel-belt around my waist; it was so long that the untied ends hung down to my knees and bounced whenever I walked. I wasn't the prettiest sight in Fangorn, but at least I was fully-clothed now—except for my feet; I would have to be barefoot for a while.

I was about to ask Gandalf what would be done with me, but he answered before I even took my next breath. "I would take you to a safe place here in Fangorn, but as it stands, our time is running short, and our road is perilous."

It was my knee-jerk reaction to insist that I accompany them, but I kept my mouth closed and let him make the decision. I wasn't a Mary-Sue, after all—at least, that's what I hoped.

"You may travel with us as far as Edoras," Gandalf said at last. He slipped a grey travelling cloak over his white robes and set his steps to a path through the forest known only to him. I drew a long breath through my nostrils and let it out slowly, slightly relieved. Aragorn, Legolas, and I followed after Gandalf, but Gimli trudged along behind us, muttering to himself.

"Edoras?" Gimli groaned. "That is no short distance!"

XxxXXx

We emerged from the south end of Fangorn, and I was very thankful for the new soft grass that cushioned my feet. I was also very glad that we had horses—I would not have to walk all the way to Edoras with feet unshod. I half-hoped that I would get to ride Shadowfax with Gandalf, but something told me it was not to be.

Nevertheless, I was quite entranced with Shadowfax. Not only was he very beautiful in the way of horses, but he seemed to be quite brilliant. I saw in his eyes glimmers of some deeper intelligence, almost like the talking equines in _Gulliver's Travels_. I lifted my hand to stroke his grey muzzle, but Gandalf gently warned me against it as he prepared to mount. "He has not yet determined if you are friend or foe. You would be wise to keep your distance."

Aragorn, already mounted on a strong chestnut Hasufel, lightly touched my shoulder. "You may ride with me, Lady." I grasped his hand and clambered onto the horse, probably making a terrible fool of myself. I took a long moment to situate myself behind Aragorn in the saddle, earning an amused quirk of the eyebrow from the Dundedain Ranger.

"Okay, we can go now," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Gandalf chuckled and spurred Shadowfax to a quick canter, and the rest of us followed suit.

I rode behind Aragorn in uncomfortable silence, thankful that his body kept the wind out of my face, but at the same time wishing I could dunk him in a lake full of Dove soap. I suppose I never considered how smelly someone could get after being on a quest such as this. I kept my arms close to my chest, unsure how Aragorn would react if I wrapped my arms around his waist; such an action would only be for security's sake, but it could still be easily misinterpreted. The last thing I wanted was Aragorn's discomfort and possible irritation directed at me.

When we finally stopped at a small cluster of rock hills to make camp for nightfall, my aching legs cruelly reminded me that I had not ridden a horse for at least ten years. They were stiff and un-cooperative, forcing me to walk quite awkwardly with my feet farther apart than what is natural. I gently rubbed the small of my back to try to ease the stabs of pain in my sciatic nerves. _And ibuprofen doesn't exist here,_ I thought with a groan. _I'm just going to have to suck it up._

"Not much of a rider, are you, lass?" Gimli asked with a grin. He stood next to me and leaned on his double-headed axe.

"Not really," I said, crossing my arms. "I was never around horses very much when I was growing up."

"Neither am I," Gimli replied resolutely. "We dwarves are not made for such transportation."

The dwarf's lilt made me smile; I always loved hearing people speak in accents. I fancied I could do a fairly passable British accent, but it wouldn't do me much good here. They've already heard me talk; switching accents would probably only sow seeds of mistrust, or at least lead them to think I was strange.

An odd question sprang into my thoughts. "Then what transportation do you use? Certainly you don't walk everywhere."

To this Gimli replied with a grunt. "Wagons. Much more comfortable than romping about on horses."

I laughed to myself. It seemed Gimli, who had been mistrustful of me from the start, was warming up to me. I didn't let myself get too cocky, however; I had no right to expect that any of these men would show any level of trust in me. I had half a mind, though, to think that Gandalf knew I wasn't a threat to them; he probably would not have brought me along if he thought otherwise. Either way, I would still have to earn their trust like everyone else.

"Come," Gimli said gruffly. "Let us return to the group and feed our stomachs."

Smiling, I picked up a fistful of my skirt and followed after the stocky red-haired dwarf to the small group of rock hills. I took the empty space next to Gandalf and sat down quietly. The five of us sat in a circle around a small fire. A wafer of lembas bread was passed around, each of us taking a little section for ourselves. I tasted it curiously, contemplating its sweet and moist flavor.

"If you don't mind my asking," I said to no one in particular after I had swallowed my lembas. "How long will it take to get to Edoras?"

"About a week," Aragorn replied; he sat directly across from me with an arm draped over his upright knee. The other leg lay bent underneath the upright one. "But we must ride hard and still allow time for the horses to rest."

A deep frown formed between my eyebrows. I was unaccustomed to this particular mode of travel, so I was a little wary of having to sleep on the ground—and going without a shower—for the next seven days. I silently prayed that I would be able to bathe upon reaching Edoras. I was already beginning to miss my crappy plastic mattress in my dorm room.

Bottom line: I was not a happy camper.

"Now, on to the matter at hand," Gandalf said, turning to me. "How did you come to be in Fangorn?" If his question was supposed to be critical, I could not sense it in his tone or in his eyes.

The others, however, bombarded me with stares, waiting for my reply. I looked around the circle, wincing under their questioning gazes, Legolas's especially. Before now he had practically ignored my presence—something that frustrated my inner fan-girl—but I had been nonetheless quite content with my obscurity in his eyes. Those blue-gray eyes bored into me now, tempered with suspicion. I don't think I could ever describe the discomfort I felt.

I tore a blade of grass from the ground and fiddled with it. "Honestly," I said quietly. "I don't know. I was at home one minute and here the next."

"'Here'?" Aragorn asked, leaning closer.

"Middle-earth," I replied. "You probably won't believe me, but I'm not from here."

"Your dress and speech told me as much," Gandalf said.

"Oh," I said simply. I wasn't sure if I liked that explanation. Maybe he knew from my American accent. Wait a second—what language was I speaking anyway? Westron and English are certainly not the same language, but somehow I was able to communicate with these people. I suppose that if this Middle-Earth followed the timeline and pattern of the movies, the characters would most likely speak English, but I decided to save that question for another time. "But how can you be sure you can trust me?" I asked.

"Young lady," Gandalf said with a click of his tongue. "I do not know for certain if you are a threat, but I do know that the will of Illúvatar brought you here. You must have some purpose for being in this place, only it is outside my power to discern. If you are our enemy, I would rather you be in my sights than out of my knowledge; trust has little to do with it."

I shrugged with a sigh of relief. He may not trust me, but at least he believed me.

"We must rest now," he said and looked around the small circle. "There will be time for more questions tomorrow. I will take first watch."

With a little effort, I situated myself as comfortably as I could on the patchy burnt-yellow grass. I lay my head on my arm and closed my eyes, but not for long. I tried to concentrate on my breathing, but nothing seemed to relax me to the point of slumber. I moved around and huffed with displeasure. My lower back twinged with a dull pain.

"Something troubles you?" Gandalf said without looking at me. He had scooted backward and now leaned against the base of a rock hill. The sky was dark now, covered by an impenetrable curtain of storm clouds, so I could not see his face. I sat up and let my shoulders slump.

"I can't sleep."

"I can see that," Gandalf said, bemused. "What hinders you from sleep?"

"Anxiety, I guess." I scooted backward, rather unladylike, and sat next to Gandalf.

He pulled a long slender pipe from his robe and lit it. He took a long drag of his pipe-weed and puffed a perfect ring of smoke. "Why are you anxious?" he asked between puffs.

"That's a good question," I mused. Truth be told, I had never contemplated the source of my worry. I had merely assumed I had undiagnosed general anxiety disorder. "I suppose I'm just homesick," I said, and then added, "And grass is very uncomfortable."

Gandalf chuckled at that and puffed. "What is it about your home that makes you want to return?" He was just making polite conversation now, but I was glad for the chance to talk. It wasn't everyday that someone from Earth got to have a chit-chat with _the _Gandalf the White.

"I miss my sister," I paused for dramatic effect. "And my mattress."

"Complaining is not going to get us to Edoras any sooner, young lady," Gandalf chided in jest.

I made a note to myself not to complain…out loud. What right did I have, anyhow? My life was easy compared to what these men have been through, especially Gandalf and Aragorn. I strained my eyes to see the dozing Ranger in the darkness. He was huddled into a tight ball with his gray cloak wrapped snugly around his body. Only his hand—the one bearing the ring of Barahir—was visible outside his make-shift cocoon. He looked so peaceful.

In that moment, I realized something that I knew I would eventually come to regret: I was attracted to Aragorn. No matter how much I tried to squelch them, the feelings crept from the inner depths of my mind, and I knew that only heartache would come from them. These were different from the general squeals about Legolas from my inner fan-girl; I was teetering on the edge of the same trap Éowyn would come to fall into—unrequited love. I had been in this kind of situation before, where the guy I liked was already taken, and it had ended badly—with tears and embarrassment.

Gandalf noticed my silence and stopped smoking his pipe. He must have sensed my unease, for he laid a hand on my shoulder to draw my attention away from Aragorn. "He has a heavy weight on his shoulders," the Istar said quietly. "You would do well not to put unnecessary burdens on your own. Rest now." He patted my shoulder comfortingly.

I nodded numbly and lay down with my back to the group. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes with a tense brow. Only one day in Middle-earth—and already I've created a problem for myself. How am I going to get out of this one?

_God, please don't let me make the same mistake twice._


	3. Shadowfax the Hippogriff?

It seemed my eyes had been closed for mere seconds before someone gently shook me awake. I opened my sleep-laden eyes and got to my feet. I winced as blood rushed to my head and clouded my vision for a few moments. Silently, I clambered behind Aragorn onto Hasufel, and we were on our way again.

The morning was dark. Even if the sun had already risen, I doubt I would have been able to see it through the clouds. With the darkness came the chill. Aragorn's body shielded me from most of the biting wind, but I was beginning to lose the feeling in my bare toes. I huddled behind Aragorn, careful to keep my hands to myself. The Rohan countryside passed by in a haze, but I attributed that to my grogginess. I felt the pressure of fatigue on my mind, and I fought to stay awake.

Presently, we stopped to allow the horses some time to rest. I was tempted to go back to sleep, but thought better of it and walked around to loosen my stiff legs. Gimli, on the other hand, sat up against a rock, lowered his chin to his chest, and promptly began to snore. Legolas eyed the dwarf with keen amusement and then returned to his quiet conversation with Aragorn.

I took a long look at the ranger and then turned away with a sigh. I smiled wryly. He's much more handsome in person than on-screen, but I tried not to dwell on that observation.

The next few days went on in the same way. We would stop two or three times each day to let the horses recuperate, and I would ruminate over my unrequited feelings for Aragorn, each day becoming more distraught with myself. Thankfully, Gimli's antics distracted me. He loved to talk about himself, his family, and the nature of dwarves in general. Most of the time he would talk to Legolas, and then complain to me that the "pointy-eared princeling" wasn't actually listening to him.

Speaking of Legolas, I actually found myself getting irritated with him at certain points of our journey to Edoras. Looking back, however, leads me to think that it was just my inner fan girl vying for his attention. He was so aloof and unattainable, even in person—probably more-so than he was on the silver screen. Don't get me wrong: he wasn't a snob—just concerned with other matters. I would look at him sometimes with my head tilted to one side, unbelieving that I was actually in his presence; he was quite beautiful, but in an untouchable sort of way. His complexion was flawless, and never was there a hair or thread out of place.

I wondered if Elves were susceptible to obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Aragorn, in contrast, had a kind of rugged handsomeness. The smell of sweat and travel wasn't particularly attractive, but my nose soon became desensitized to the odor. Sometimes I would catch myself studying him—the way he walked, the way he stroked Hasufel's neck, the respect and admiration he showed toward Gandalf—and find myself in wonderment, much against my better judgment.

It wasn't until the sixth night of our trek that I got to talk with him privately.

I propped myself on my elbows and looked around; the others slumbered close by, but Aragorn was taking his watch. He sat facing the East with his back to me and sharpened his sword with a small whetstone. Mordor lay in the East, the clouds above it aglow with some hellish red light.

I picked myself up and quietly walked over to him, careful not to wake the others. Aragorn turned his head slightly upon hearing my approach. "May I join you?" I whispered.

He nodded in assent and returned to sharpening his sword. I sat down on the prickly grass next to him and looked forward. "Does something trouble your sleep again?" he asked. I supposed it was common knowledge now that I had difficulty sleeping through the night. I shrugged.

"I'm just not tired, that's all," I replied.

"Then you may take watch when mine is over."

I twiddled my thumbs as an uncomfortable silence settled between us. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but none of them I could remember. I would have continued to sit there in awkward silence had not Aragorn asked me the most unexpected question.

"Are you pledged to someone in your homeland?"

I straightened and stared at him, taken aback, but his eyes remained eastward. I noted his strong profile and his tired eyes, and then blinked it away into the back of my mind. "No," I replied. "Why do you ask?"

"The ring on your left hand," he said quietly. I glanced at the ring in question—a cross-shaped set of rhinestones on a gold band; I must have forgotten to take it off before I had stepped in the shower six days ago—had it really been that short of a time? "If what you say is true, then you are a long way from home and from those you love." He paused and shrugged. "I merely wondered if there was a man awaiting your return."

I sensed a trace of regret in his voice, as if his thoughts turned to the Half-Elf he had left in Rivendell. I chose my words carefully. "You sound as if _you_ left someone behind."

The ranger was silent for a few long moments. "It was nothing more than a memory," he said in a barely audible whisper, unconsciously reaching up to grab the small crystal pendant hanging from his throat. He sighed and returned to sharpening his sword.

I recognized the line from a flashback in the movie in which he was bidding Arwen farewell, trying to convince her to forget about him. I wanted so badly to assure him that Arwen was not going to sail to Valinor, but I bit my lip to hold myself back, unsure how he would react to my extensive knowledge of the whole situation. Instead, I decided to talk about myself. "Well, I'm not promised to anyone back home, but there is this one guy that I've taken a liking to. I doubt anything will come of it, though."

"Why do you say that?"

I shrugged. "He's simply not interested." I smiled wryly. "But I still have hope."

"Then I wish you and your future husband much happiness," Aragorn said with a small, but sincere smile. "And what of your ring?" he asked.

I slipped the ring from my finger and began to fiddle with it. "It's a called a purity ring," I said with a hint of pride in my voice. "You may find this hard to believe, but where I come from, it's very common for a girl to lose her—" I paused to search for the right word. "Her maidenhood before she gets married."

Aragorn turned and looked at me incredulously. I shivered. "Surely not," he said, unbelieving.

I nodded. "This ring is a symbol of my choice to keep my maidenhood."

This time, Aragorn gave a slight nod of approval. "A noble goal."

_It's not actually that difficult if no one wants to be with you anyway. _ I shook the thought away and pushed my hair behind my shoulders. I wiped some of the hair oil on my fingers onto my robe and sighed. My dark brown hair hadn't been washed for at least four days. It was now limp and stringy, its oil weighing down its natural wave. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever understand how Legolas kept his hair so freaking perfect. Gimli's was so thick that it didn't really matter, and he also wore a helmet most of the time. Gandalf's hair was so brilliantly white that its unkemptness was hardly noticeable. Of the small group, only Aragorn and I showed signs of needing a good wash.

At least I didn't stink as bad as any of them—even Legolas could have used some Axe body spray once in a while.

Aragorn took this opportunity to relieve himself of his watch. He sheathed his sword and stood. "Wake us at dawn," he instructed and lay down near Legolas. His steady breathing told me that he had fallen asleep almost immediately.

I hunched over and propped my elbows on my knees. My eyes wandered around, anxious for something stimulating to do. They fell on the white stallion Shadowfax, who had been tethered with Arod and Hasufel to one of the smaller rocks jutting from the ground.

He pawed gently at the grass and looked at me with those intelligent dark eyes of his. I got up and went to him, but kept a respectable distance between us. He bobbed his head down, sending a few tendrils of his white mane fluttering with the movement. I took a step forward, treading carefully. Irrational fear crept into my body, causing my heart to quicken and my palms to sweat. What was I trying to accomplish anyway? I was no animal enthusiast; I hadn't the slightest idea how to tame a horse.

But then, Shadowfax was no ordinary horse; he could not be tamed. I vaguely remembered something Gandalf had said in the books. He said that you do not "ride" Shadowfax, the Lord of all Horses, but Shadowfax must be willing to carry you. I took a deep breath and stepped closer with my hand outstretched. I saw a twinkle of mischief in his eyes; he whinnied abruptly, causing me to start. I lowered my hand. "Sorry," I whispered.

Suddenly, an odd idea struck me. In one of the Harry Potter books, Harry had to bow to Buckbeak as a show of submission before the hippogriff would allow him to come near. It's possible the same principle could work here. I bent forward at the waist, letting my hair hang over my face, and waited. After a few tense moments, Shadowfax clopped forward and nuzzled the side of my face. With a smile of triumph, I straightened and stroked his neck.

Unbeknownst to me, Gandalf smiled, closed his gray eyes, and went back to sleep.


	4. My First Altercation

A deluge of adrenaline rushed through my veins. I quickly sat up and clutched my heart, breathing hard. Gandalf stood in front of me, his staff near the foot he had nudged to wake me. He had an odd look on his face; I'm not sure I liked it. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had mounted their respective horses. Their faces were also somber.

"What—" I began to say, and then I understood. A little light of the dawn broke through the clouds. I had fallen asleep on my watch. I looked away from Gandalf and studied a cluster of grass near my pinkish foot. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "It won't happen again." My cheeks tingled.

"There is no harm done," Gandalf said. "We are all right. But we would have lost valuable time had not Legolas woke at dawn on his own. You must remain vigilant."

I nodded, got to my feet, and sheepishly made ready to mount Hasufel behind Aragorn. He did not look at me. _Why did I have to be such a loser sometimes?_

"Shadowfax will carry you today, my dear," Gandalf said lightly as he mounted the white stallion. I peered at the wizard with a critical eye, but took the helping hand he offered me. He deftly pulled me up with more strength than I had previously thought within his capabilities. _He's just full of surprises._ I situated myself on Shadowfax's back and held onto Gandalf as he spurred the horse into a quick canter.

XxXxXxX

I think I would have enjoyed the ride on Shadowfax if I hadn't been so preoccupied. I had a bad habit of re-hashing embarrassing moments over and over until I had convinced myself that I was a failure. Of itself, falling asleep on my watch was not really that bad thanks to Legolas; nevertheless, Aragorn had trusted me with a simple task, and I had failed. I couldn't help but imagine how disappointed he must be with me. I suppose I was thankful that I had ridden with Gandalf.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we finally came upon Edoras. It was a city set upon a hill with the golden hall of Meduseld standing on the crown. In earlier days it was the pinnacle of splendor for Rohan, its walls proudly displaying the gilded horse device of Rohan. With the failing health of the king, however, darkness loomed over the city, casting its solemn shadow over the hearts of the people, and it showed on their faces.

"Do not look for welcome here," Gandalf said as we made our way to Meduseld. The darkly-clad people of Edoras stood and watched in silence. An old woman with white hair pulled a toddler boy close to her skirts. The boy squirmed in her grip, frowning and trying to pry her fingers from his shoulder. He reminded me of one of my nephews, Austin—thick blonde hair, round dimpled cheeks, and stocky limbs.

"You find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli muttered. I stared at the old woman for a moment more and then looked away. I wished I could see my own grandma. There was a possibility that I would never see my grandma or my nephew again, but I was determined not to give up hope just yet.

We went to the stables to the left of the Hall and tethered our horses there before climbing the broad stone steps leading to the Hall itself; I stuck close to Gandalf. There we were met by Háma, Captain of the Guard, and Gamling, his second. Háma was of mid-height and had a round face with an auburn beard. Gamling, in contrast, was taller and leaner than Háma with a long face and pointed nose. Both men greeted us with cold civility.

"I cannot let you come before the king so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," he said. "By order of Grima Wormtongue."

I felt rather odd watching Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli divest themselves of their weapons, seeing as I had none myself. Háma eyed me curiously as I stood awkwardly next to Gandalf, probably waiting for me to reveal some cleverly-concealed weapon.

At length, he turned to Gandalf. "Your staff," he said.

The old wizard inconspicuously hunched over and leaned heavily upon his staff. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick," he said with a weary look on his weathered face. I wanted to roll my eyes, but didn't so as not to give away Gandalf's ruse. Háma regarded him for a moment, and then let us pass.

I offered Gandalf my arm for support, as Legolas had done in the movie. Gandalf took it with a small smirk and let me lead him through the dimly-lit Hall. I fought the urge to crinkle my nose when a rather unpleasant smell of body odor assaulted me, so I kept my eyes locked forward on the aged king, unaware of the prowling eyes upon me and the rest of our group. Grima Wormtongue, Théoden's advisor and a rat of a man, sat next to the throne, huddled deep in his dark and dirty robes and whispering into the king's ear. I was disgusted just from the look of him.

"The courtesy of your Hall has lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf declared.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" the king replied lethargically. His voice was strained, as if it pained him to speak. I could see now the affects of Saruman's mind control on the man's body. He slouched against his throne, wrapped in a kingly fur cloak that looked like it hadn't been washed for a month. Both his beard and graying blonde hair had grown stringy and scraggly. Worst of all was his face, dirty and ghastly-colored like ash. His cloudy eyes roamed lazily about, burdened by unquenchable fatigue.

Wormtongue stood and approached us. "Late is the hour in which this _conjurer_ chooses to appear." The very sound of his voice set my nerves on edge. It was haughty and arrogant—overconfident. "Láthspell, I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Silence," Gandalf retorted sharply. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth." He let go of my arm and grasped his staff with both hands.

The mask of arrogance fell from Wormtongue's face and revealed a wide-eyed look of terror when Gandalf thrust his staff forward. "His staff!" Wormtongue exclaimed and retreated. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

I became suddenly aware of a skirmish going on behind me as Gandalf approached Théoden. I tried to remove myself to a safer location, but got clipped in the jaw by a stray punch. After re-orienting myself, I ran to the cold hearth in the middle of the Hall and grabbed a log suitable for clobbering. A dirty ruffian came at me, and I swung my log at his head, but he caught it and wrenched it away from me. I grimaced when I noticed the lusty look in his dark eyes.

He advanced, and I retreated. After taking a few steps backward, I turned around and bolted for the large double doors, but he jumped and caught me by the legs, sending both of us to the floor. I winced when I felt a sharp pain in my mouth; I faintly tasted blood. He turned me over and crossed my arms over my chest. I tried to kick him or wiggle out from under him, but he was too heavy. He raised his hand to strike me, but a stronger hand grabbed it and twisted it backward. Legolas yanked the man upward and administered a sharp blow to the joining of his neck and collarbone, knocking him out cold—almost like the Vulcan nerve pinch. He dropped the unconscious man and helped me to my feet.

"Thanks," I said. The elf nodded curtly and returned to Aragorn's side.

A sickening laugh escaped Théoden's chapped lips. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!"

With a flourish, Gandalf removed his gray cloak and dropped it beside his feet. His brilliance suddenly filled the whole room; so bright was he that I had to cover my eyes and Théoden cowered before him.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf said with power. He pointed his staff at the king and advanced.

I watched in awe at the work of Gandalf. I would be afraid as well were I in Théoden's place; in his element, Gandalf can be very frightening. I vaguely registered Éowyn's sudden presence next to Aragorn.

At long last, Gandalf delivered one final blow to free Théoden's mind. He struck the king on the forehead, knocking him backward and forcefully casting Saruman from his mind. Théoden slumped and fell forward. Éowyn wrested herself from Aragorn and rushed to her uncle before he fell completely out of his chair. She propped him up and looked into his face. Before our very eyes, Théoden's visage returned to normal. He studied Éowyn as the cloud receded from his eyes and the color returned to his cheeks.

"I know your face," he whispered. "Éowyn." He stroked her pale blonde hair and smiled with relief. "Éowyn." His niece smiled brightly through her tears of joy.

_Score 1 for the good guys._

XxxXxx

King Théoden had little time to enjoy his new-found freedom that gray morning before the burden of his son's death was thrust upon his shoulders. I remember the haunted look in his eyes as he had searched in vain for Théodred in the crowd. His gaze had locked with mine for only a moment, but that moment was enough for me to glimpse the turmoil ravaging his mind. He may have been free of Saruman's mind-poison, but it seemed he had only traded one evil for another.

Because Théodred had passed a few days beforehand, it was necessary to bury him as soon as possible before his body began to decay. The ceremony was set to take place in the evening, just before the setting of the sun. In the meanwhile, the king bade us rest and nourish ourselves at the courtesy of his Hall. Gimli was the only one to take him up on the offer. I, on the other hand, had my own plans.

I thought it best not to disturb the king with my request, so I instead sought out Éowyn, leaving my companions in the Hall. I had not wandered far before I found her just outside the door of Théodred's chambers, keeping a keen eye on her uncle who was kneeling at his son's bedside. I saw the twinkling trail of tears on her freckled cheeks, and I almost faltered. Who was I to make a request of her at such a time as this? Surely I can make the required sacrifice; but I didn't know if I would ever have this opportunity again, so I pressed onward.

I approached her silently on my bare feet and waited for her to acknowledge my presence. After a long moment, she turned and started slightly, lifting both her eyebrows in surprise. "Lady," she said in a breathy tone. "I did not see you there."

"I beg your pardon, Lady Éowyn," I replied with a bow of my head. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The shield-maiden pursed her pink lips together and knit her brows. "You seem to know me, yet I do not even know how you are called. You are one of the Grey Pilgrim's companions, are you not?"

I nodded. "Yes. I'm Rebecca."

"I greet you, Lady Rebecca," Éowyn replied. She tried to smile, but it seemed her cheeks had no will to do so. Instead, she straightened her shoulders—we could have easily been the same height—and bade me follow her down the aged wooden corridor so that we may speak in private. She stopped at a bend around a corner and turned to me. "What is your petition, Lady Rebecca?"

I chewed on my lip while I contemplated what to say; I was treading on shaky ground as it was. "I apologize if I seem a bit presumptuous, but is there any way I can get a bath and some clean clothes?" I looked down at my white dirt-stained robe as if to emphasize my point.

This time, Éowyn did manage a little smile, if only in jest. "Of course. I will take you to my seamstress and have her tailor a few sets for you. As for a bath, I will have a maidservant prepare a tub of bathwater and soaps. We do not have much to spare, but it should be sufficient for your needs."

"That would be wonderful," I replied with a relieved shrug and a smile.

XxxXxx

A/N: I apologize for leaning so much on the movie for this chapter, but this was a very important scene in the TT—if I really was there I would not want to miss it. I do promise, though, that this story will _not_ be me simply adding the movie script. I've got bigger plans. :D


	5. Exodus from Edoras

A/N: News flash! I just finished and posted a two video trailers for this story on youtube. I hope some of you readers will watch it to kind of get a feel for where I would like to go with this story, but keep in mind that I might not actually follow it to the letter. If that happens, I'll just make a new one later, but this one is a good start. Please check it out on youtube; just type "The Lady, the Horseman, and the Shower" into the search box. I watch it every time I get writer's block to keep me pumped. 

XxXxXXx

The hall was dark but for the torches. I discreetly scratched an itchy patch of burgundy fabric under my left breast and made a note to myself to wear the grey dress tomorrow. I had caught the wing of fortune, for the burgundy dress I now wore and the grey one had been hanging in the seamstress's wardrobe for months prior to my arrival; they had only needed to be tailored to my slightly-thicker size. I fancied that they were intended to be worn by Éowyn, but she didn't seem to mind that I wore them instead. The young woman in question sat next to me at the wooden table, still wearing her blue funeral garb and paying close attention to the ongoing conversation between her uncle and my companions.

The debate among the men had taken a turn for the worst. I gritted my teeth and fiddled with the end of the damp braid in my newly-washed hair to distract myself. How can I just sit here in silence, knowing what I know? I kept reminding myself that the battle at Helm's Deep would be successful, but that did little to assuage my anxiety over the lives that would have to be lost for that victory. I tried to tune out the conversation and focus on the plate of food in front of me, but I was restless. Maybe if I told Théoden about Wormtongue—no, I can't say anything. I clenched my hands into fists, digging my jagged fingernails into my palms to keep myself quiet.

"I will not bring further death to my people," said Théoden to Gandalf. "I will not risk open war."

I stole a glance at Aragorn, who sat across the hall with a smoking pipe in his hand. He was dressed casually, but still held himself with regality. "Open war is upon you," he said to Théoden. His sharp tone suggested that he was more than unhappy with Théoden's indecisiveness. "Whether you would risk it or not." An uneasy silence settled on the room for a few moments as all eyes found their way to Aragorn.

Théoden looked like his manhood had just been assaulted. "Last I looked," he remarked with a dash of sarcasm. "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf asked as he stood from his chair next to Théoden's throne.

"Helm's Deep," I whispered before I could catch myself. Éowyn glanced over her shoulder at me.

"Tomorrow we make for Helm's Deep," Théoden announced. Gandalf and Aragorn looked crestfallen, but they would eventually get over it. I supposed they weren't very accustomed to people disregarding their advice. "Éowyn," he continued. "Begin the preparations. I will inform my captains and then assist you from there."

"Yes, my lord," she replied. After a short curtsey, Éowyn picked up her skirts and left the hall. I don't know why, but I stood and followed after her into the dim corridor, leaving most of the food on my plate uneaten.

"Lady Éowyn," I called. She stopped and turned to me, giving me time to catch her up before I started speaking again. "My lady," I said.

"Yes, what is it?" she said, a little sharply. I took a half step backward to give her some more space.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" I asked quietly.

She did not answer right away, but kept her incredulous gaze on me. "How did you know?"

My stomach dropped. "Know what?" I asked, knowing full-well what she meant.

"Do not play coy with me, Lady Rebecca." Éowyn stepped closer and lowered her voice. "How did you know my uncle would send us to Helm's Deep?"

"It was a lucky guess," I lied quickly and immediately regretted it.

"How did you even know of Helm's Deep? Do not think me ignorant, but your accent is quite foreign to me. You are not from these lands." Her face was set hard like a flint. She was more astute than I had expected. There was no way I could fib my way out of this one. Only sincerity could help me here.

"You're right," I said, my palms upturned in surrender. "My home is very, very far away, and I don't know the way back. Gandalf is the only one who might be able to help me."

"That does not answer my question."

I set my hands on my hips and chewed my lip, trying to come up with a satisfactory answer. One wrong word could ruin everything. "Helm's Deep seemed to be the logical choice. Your uncle didn't want to pull your people into a war, so he's sending them to Helm's Deep in case there is an attack on the city." _Wormtongue knows it too,_ my cynical side added.

Éowyn shifted her eyes away from me and took a deep breath to calm herself. After a few moments of internal debate, she nodded slightly in assent. "If you travel with Gandalf then I suppose you are no danger to us. I apologize for being so forward."

"That's all right," I said with a friendly smile. "Now, back to my question. What can I do to help you with the preparations?"

Éowyn shook her head. "Not tonight, my friend. But if it is your wish, I will send for you in the morning."

"Of course," I replied. Inside, I was glowing with pride. Éowyn of Rohan had called me her _friend_. It didn't seem like she had very many of them, so I felt extremely honored. With a bow of my head, I thanked her and left to retire. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

XxXXxXx

Just as she had promised, Éowyn sent for me personally as soon as the dawn had broken over the horizon. I hastily put on my grey dress and new soft-leather boots and followed her to the stables, combing my fingers through my crimped hair. Already people were gathering their belongings and bustling all over Edoras. As Éowyn and I neared the stables, Gandalf and Shadowfax galloped past us. I whipped around and jogged a few paces after him with Éowyn not far behind me. "Where has he gone?" she asked with a slight hint of panic. "Surely he is not leaving us in our hour of need!"

"Don't worry," I replied with a smile. "He's gone to find Éomer. He'll be back."

"I certainly hope so," Éowyn said and continued to the stables.

My nose crinkled at the smell of horse manure. I pinched my nose to fight the urge to sneeze, but like last time, I sneezed anyway. I took a few deep breaths to desensitize my nose to the unpleasant smell. After rolling up my long sleeves, I quickly hoisted a heavy saddle into my arms and handed it to a nearby stable-hand. Two stalls away, a stocky tawny horse gave a loud whinny; I heard a distinct _thump_ and an irritated groan from within the stall. Curious, I peered into the stall. A man with long wavy blonde hair lay slumped against the back wall, a large red welt forming on his cheek. His bearded face was very handsome, with a long rounded nose and the fair complexion common to the Rohirric people. For some reason, he reminded me of Gawain from the movie _King Arthur. _The mere thought of the character sent my stomach into flips. I went to him and gently shook his shoulder. "Hey," I said. "Are you okay?"

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Bloody horse kicked me while I was putting on another shoe, but I will be all right." To my ears he sounded young, probably mid-twenties. I felt a little giddy from being so close to him, but he didn't seem to notice. He gathered his tools and stood. He looked into my eyes for a moment, as if caught in a trance. "By the gods," he whispered.

I nervously touched my cheek. "What? Is there something on my face?"

The young man blinked and cleared his throat. "Good day to you, Lady," he said curtly and left the stables as quickly as if he had had a Warg on his trail.

"How rude," I muttered, but in the back of my mind I wished I could see him again. I felt a strange connection to him somehow, but my feeble mind had not the slightest idea of what it could be. Maybe it was just physical attraction—he was rather handsome—but something deep inside me said that this was different. I would just have to wait and see.

Another commotion caught my attention. I peered outside the stall and spied Aragorn slowly approaching a dark brown roan thrashing against its restraints--Brego. Éowyn stopped what she was doing and watched as Aragorn calmed the horse, whispering soft Elvish words of comfort. Her undivided attention was on Aragorn and Brego, a look of wonder in her eyes. I wondered if this was the moment when she fell in love with Aragorn. The young woman cautiously approached the now docile Brego and said softly, "I have heard of the magic of Elves, but I did not look for it in a Ranger from the North. You speak as one of their own."

"I was raised in Rivendell for a time," Aragorn replied. He scratched Brego between the eyes and let go of his muzzle. "Turn this fellow free," he said. "He has seen enough of war." He turned and walked away.

Éowyn reached up and gently stroked Brego's silky brown neck. She tucked two fingers into a loop on his muzzle and began to lead him out of his stall. She saw me and smiled. "Come," she said. "We will bid him farewell."

I fell in step next to Éowyn as we left the stables. A group of refugees had already begun to leave the town. They parted as we passed and inclined their heads with respect to Éowyn. Once we were outside the city gates, we quickened our pace a little and made our way to Théodred's funeral mound. Éowyn abruptly stopped in front of the grassy mound dotted with simbelmynë and took a deep breath. "This is your horse, Cousin," she said. "He was half-mad after you—after your death, but Lord Aragorn has made him well again." She let go of Brego and laid a hand on the door into the tomb. "I will set him free for you so he will no longer suffer, just as you are no longer suffering." With tearful eyes, she kissed Brego on the face and gave him a gentle push. He looked back one last time before he sprang into a gallop and slowly disappeared into the distance.

I wiped a tear from my face and impulsively wrapped my hand around Éowyn's to comfort her. She looked puzzled at the unbidden gesture of affection, but then squeezed my hand in return. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime," I replied with a small smile.

XxXxXxx

By mid-morning we were on our way. I wasn't exactly thrilled about having to do a lot of walking again, but I held my peace for my own sanity's sake. The walk would do me a world of good. The weather was nice and cool, and the road was pretty even for the most part. The carts had a bit of trouble at first, but I admired the people for their determination to keep going. I slung a small brown bag carrying my few belongings over my shoulder and quickened my pace to catch up with Éowyn, who was walking beside a mounted Gimli—a rather odd sight considering his stumpy stature juxtaposed with the horse's large frame.

"Ah, Lady Rebecca," said the dwarf in his natural gruff tone. "It has been a while since we have last spoken."

"My apologies, Gimli," I replied. "Éowyn and I were quite busy this morning." Éowyn stole a glance at me and smiled.

"Of that I have no doubt," Gimli said. He looked ahead and squared his shoulders. "As I was telling the lass," he continued. "It's true there aren't many Dwarf women. In fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they are often mistaken for Dwarf men."

I couldn't help myself. I leaned closer to Éowyn and whispered, "It's the beards."

Éowyn bit her lip to hold back a snicker and gently nudged me in the ribs. "Hush," she said.

Gimli continued his lecture as if nothing had happened. "And this in turn has given rise to the belief that are no Dwarf women—and that Dwarfs just spring out of holes in the ground! Which is, of course, ridiculous." Gimli ended his speech with a bold gesture of his arms. The gesture tipped his body off-balance, causing his legs to involuntarily kick his steed. With a humph, the horse charged forward, causing the poor dwarf to slide clear off the saddle and land on the grassy plain with a loud _thump_.

Unable to hold back her laughter, Éowyn picked up the skirts of her brown dress and ran to Gimli's aid while I stayed behind; he was going to be all right, so there was no need for me to make a fuss. In all honesty, this whole incident was much more entertaining up close. I suppose in all the rush, I had forgotten that I was, in fact, in Middle-Earth—hundreds of fan girls would kill for the chance to be here, and I was the lucky one. My stomach did a little flip, and I desperately fought the urge to squeal with joy.

Instead, I jumped at a sudden pressure on my left leg. "Oh my," I said and looked down. There was a little blonde boy clutching steadfastly to me with his stubby arms wrapped around my calf. He peered up at me with large sparkling blue eyes and grinned devilishly; his puffy cheeks dimpled near the corners of his mouth. "Well, hello, little mister," I said and scooped him up into my arms. He found a comfortable position on my hip and grabbed a strand of my brown hair to play with. I silently thanked God that I didn't need my glasses anymore; the little munchkin would have inevitably gone after them. I studied his face again with a critical eye, tilting my head to one side. He looked oddly familiar.

He looked at me and giggled infectiously. I heard Aragorn chuckle from his mount behind me. "It seems you have yourself a new traveling companion," he said sweetly. "And a handsome one at that."

I slowed my pace to fall in step next to Aragorn and his horse. "You're just jealous," I replied playfully and stroked the child's mane of shaggy blonde hair. He couldn't have been more than three years old.

"Any man would be, would he not?"

_I think he just complimented me_, I thought. "Thank you," I said with a blush. My stomach dropped down to my toes.

"Ældenbrand!"

I looked over my shoulder to find the source of the voice and continued walking. The little boy squirmed in my arms but wouldn't let me put him down. A tall blonde man weaved his way through the column of people, stopping every few seconds to take a visual sweep. "Ældenbrand, where are you?" he said loudly. As he stepped closer, I realized who it was, and my giddiness multiplied exponentially; it was the man from the stables I had met earlier this morning. He was still as handsome as ever, dressed in green and brown fabrics underneath a light set of leather armor. His long tangled hair fell over his shoulders, and some of it curled in messy ringlets around his face. I gulped.

"Ældenbrand, you little imp," he said with a huff and came to me. "Do not run away from me and your grandmother."

The boy, Ældenbrand, shrank closer to my bosom at this man's scolding. He wrapped his arms around my neck and held me tight. I gently rubbed his back. "It's all right," I cooed. "He just wanted to be sure you didn't get hurt."

"Thank you," the man sighed. He reached for Ældenbrand, but then looked into my face and visibly stiffened. I shifted my eyes around and shrugged to bring attention to his staring, but he didn't seem to notice. His paralysis passed after a moment, and he reached again for Ældenbrand, but the little toddler clung to me with a vice grip and refused to let me go. I stuck my finger between his arm and my neck to loosen the pressure around my throat; it was a little difficult to breathe.

"I don't think he's ready to go," I said in jest. The man dropped his shoulders in defeat and rubbed the back of his head.

"Then I will stay until he is ready," he said.

"Fair enough," I replied and picked up my walking pace; I certainly didn't want to be left behind. My stomach rumbled and churned with hunger; the day must be nearing the noon hour—and the lunch hour. I thought of Éowyn's soup…and immediately grimaced.

Nothing else needs be said about that.

I snuck a glance at the man walking beside me and smiled to myself; he was at least a full head taller than I. That was a good sign. Ældenbrand breathed softly against my neck; he had probably fallen asleep. Suddenly, it dawned on me: Ældenbrand was the little boy I had seen yesterday on my way into Edoras—the one that reminded me of my nephew. The old woman must have been his grandmother, and so the man next to me—more than likely—was…

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," I said at last to my companion. "I'm Rebecca." I stuck out my free hand for a shake, but he just glanced at it with a quirk in his bushy blonde eyebrow. I withdrew my hand, reminding myself that handshakes were not the common greeting here.

"I am Ælred, and you have already met my son, Ældenbrand," he replied with a small smile. He inclined his head in a respectful greeting.

So I was right. His wife must be around here somewhere as well. I turned my face away to hide my disappointment. What was it with me and unavailable men?

The sleeping toddler heaved a sigh, catching his father's attention. Ælred smiled under his beard; he had dimples just like Ældenbrand. "I will take my leave with him, if I may," he said. I nodded and gently lowered Ældenbrand into his arms. Ælred kissed his son's forehead and said to me, "Good day to you, Lady Rebecca."

I watched sullenly as he turned and walked back into the column of refugees. _What am I going to do now?_ With a huff, I picked up my skirts and jogged to catch up with Éowyn again.

"Ah, Rebecca, you have returned," she said brightly with her hand on the reins of Gimli's horse. The Dwarf was safely mounted again, but kept quiet for fear of startling the horse again. "And you have made friends," Éowyn remarked.

"Well, I don't know about that," I replied and fumbled with the hem of my sleeve. Honestly, I was a tad bit embarrassed. I was on the verge of making a fool of myself again, as I had done in front of Aragorn when I had fallen asleep on my watch. Only this time, the man's wife would probably be around to make a fuss.

"Ælred is a good and honest man," Éowyn said, breaking my musings. "He will do you no harm."

"How well do you know him?" I asked, trying to make small conversation.

"He and Éomer were childhood friends," she replied, a look of nostalgia crossing her fair-freckled face. "They served together in the same company until Ælred resigned and became a blacksmith three years ago. He is a very skilled sword-maker and a formidable warrior."

"Why did he resign?"

Éowyn looked down for a moment before answering and became very somber. "His wife's death."


	6. Wargs Really Stink

A/N: On to chapter 6! Finally…

XxXxXxx

The smell was horrible, and it didn't look particularly appetizing either. I nudged a chunk of what looked like meat with my wooden spoon and frowned. _To eat or not to eat? That is the question_. It would be rude of me to dump the stuff, but eating it might make me sick. I shouldn't waste food, but this stuff can hardly be considered food.

Such are the musings of anyone presented with a bowl of Éowyn's stew.

In the end, my hunger won me over and I slurped the soup as fast I could so I wouldn't have to taste it. I cringed when the meat-like thing passed over my taste buds; the texture was most unpleasant. I tried to mask my discomfort, but only managed to make a series of funny faces that I'm certain amused some of the passersby. In a matter of seconds, my bowl was clean, but I was still hungry. I glanced down at the patchy grass beneath my feet. _Nope. Not gonna go there._

I uncrossed my legs and stretched them out in front of me. Taking several slow and deep breaths, I flexed my feet and leaned forward slightly to help stretch the aching muscles in my back. My sciatica was flaring up again, but at least I hadn't been sitting all day like I do back home. I would sit at my computer for hours on end, typing away on some fan fiction or browsing through you-tube videos; what a stimulating existence.

"What on earth are you doing?" I heard Éowyn ask. I looked up from my awkward position, and there she was, standing in front of me and holding an empty metal stew pot. "That looks rather unpleasant."

"I'm stretching my legs," I replied with a goofy smile. I patted an empty space next to me. "Try it."

She reluctantly set herself down and stretched her legs in front of her.

"Now point your toes up and try to grab them without bending your knees," I instructed. She reached for her toes but stopped at her knees.

"I can go no further," she said through gritted teeth. "The pain is unbearable!" She sat up and looked at me crossly. "Why do subject yourself to such torture?"

"Stretching is good for your muscles," I replied. "It makes them more limber."

"But why do you do it if it causes you pain?"

"Does it hurt to learn how to use a sword?" I asked.

"Certainly," Éowyn replied. "My whole body would ache after a sparring session with Éomer."

"It's the same with stretching," I explained, gesturing to my legs. "It only hurts for a while, until your muscles become limber and flexible."

With an incredulous eye, Éowyn studied me and shook her flaxen head. "You are quite a puzzle, Lady Rebecca."

"Please, just call me Rebecca."

Éowyn smiled. "As you wish, Rebecca." She crossed her legs and leaned back onto the palms of her hands. "Did you know that Lord Aragorn is eighty-seven years old?"

"I knew he was old," I replied. "Just not that old."

"He is quite remarkable, is he not?"

"Yes, he certainly is," I said before I could stop myself. _No! Don't encourage it!_ "I mean, he's—okay, I suppose." What was I doing? I sat there, stuttering like a fool and getting myself all sorts of confused. Éowyn was supposed to fall in love with Aragorn, but egging her on would only aggravate the situation. Then again, so would attempting to dissuade her from him altogether. Who knows what she might do differently if she never falls in love with Aragorn? I could have potentially bungled Éowyn's entire life from this point! I took a deep breath and stopped speaking. _Be calm. It's probably not as bad as you are making it seem._

"Are you well?" a perplexed Éowyn asked me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied with a forced smile. "I'm fine."

"You might fare better if you rest a little," Éowyn suggested. "The evening is upon us, and we will have another early start in the morning."

I nodded with a smirk. "That's probably a good idea."

XxxXxxxX

Sleep was not good to me that night.

_I am standing under a spotlight in a dark room of unknown size. My family and friends are crowded around me within the ring of light. I see my mother—a smiling woman in her early forties whose hair is just starting to show its silver. I see my younger sister, and she smiles at me with her half-crooked smile—a rather endearing feature of hers. With dark brown hair, porcelain skin, and a slender figure, she is much prettier than I; but she has been with me in my darkest hours to tell me that I am beautiful and that she loves me. My father and step-parents are there too, as well as their respective families. _

_Ever so slowly and imperceptibly, the spotlight narrows. Those unfortunate enough to be on the outer rim—old acquaintances and some distant relations—fade into the dark expanse. At first, I am confused about their disappearance, but a moment later I am unconcerned, as if they had never existed. _

_They have been forgotten. _

XxXxXXx

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and took a deep breath. It was going to be another long day of walking. _Quit complaining, Rebecca. We'll reach Helm's Deep today._

The chestnut horse I was leading tugged hard on the reins. I tugged back in rebuttal and glared at him. "You behave," I said, rather curtly. "I don't need any more trouble."

"Is the poor horse bothering you, my dear Rebecca?" Éowyn asked in jest from a few paces behind me; she and Aragorn were walking their horses together.

"Nope," I said while looking back over my shoulder. "All is well," I fibbed. In truth, I was a little more anxious than usual. Maybe my dream last night was the cause—I didn't know, but I did know that it was no ordinary dream. Scientists say that dreams are just one of the ways that the subconscious brain sorts and interprets information. What kind of information was my subconscious interpreting last night? It left me a little nervous.

I heard another voice next to me, much deeper and much older. "You are the Lady Rebecca?" It was an old woman; her face was worn and heavy with wrinkles. Her white hair had been pulled back into a messy roll, and she was dressed in dark fabrics. Sitting on her hip was none other than little Ældenbrand. He smiled coyly at me and then buried his face in the woman's shoulder. "He insisted on seeing you," she said with a small smile.

"He can talk?" He certainly hadn't talked when I had seen him yesterday.

"Only a little. It took a bit of effort, but his father finally understood what the babe wanted to say and bid me to take him to you."

"Why didn't he come himself?"

The old woman shrugged. "I know not. He usually remains within himself anyway. He does not enjoy burdening others with his company."

_He certainly isn't a burden on the eyes. _I suppressed a giggle from my inner fan-girl and asked, "I assume that you're Ælred 's mother?"

She inclined her snow-white head in greeting. "I am Celwyn, Ælred's mother. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Rebecca."

I returned the greeting with a half-smile. Ældenbrand wriggled in Celwyn's arms and reached out to me; I took him in my arms and set him on my hip while still holding the reins of the horse with a free hand. All the while, Celwyn studied my face with disconcerting astuteness. Was intense staring a family trait? I was uncomfortable enough being so far from home; scrutiny only exacerbated the matter.

On the corner of my peripheral vision, I saw Hama and Gamling ride up the slope on the left side of the refugee column. I thought nothing of it—that is, until a grotesque gargling and growling sound floated over the slope and jogged my memory. "Oh no," I whispered and my heart sank.

"What is it?" Celwyn asked in concern for my shift in demeanor.

Aragorn ran up the slope to investigate, only to sprint back down moments later. "Wargs!" he screamed. "We're under attack!"

Thinking quickly, King Théoden shouted, "All riders to the head of the column!"

A nearby soldier took my horse from me and galloped after the other riders. Panic spread through the column as Éowyn led us away from the skirmish. People were tripping over each other, dropping their possessions on the ground, jostling each other, and even shoving each other out of the way. Éowyn tried to calm some of the down, but fear overtook them. The stench of Warg was overpowering, even from this distance. My gag reflex spasmed, and I covered my mouth and screwed my eyes shut to fight away the urge to vomit. Ældenbrand, sensing the panic around him, began to whimper and cry. I didn't have time to comfort him, for Celwyn stumbled and fell hard onto her hip. With my free hand and a loud grunt, I helped her up and let her use me for support as we tried to keep up with the column.

We kept going at this quickened pace for at least an hour before Éowyn had us all stop to rest. I lowered Celwyn into a sitting position on the soft grass and then plopped down beside her in an exhausted huff, crossing my legs and moving Ældenbrand to sit in my lap. The little boy, still teary-eyed, whimpered and buried his face in my bosom. I gently stroked his back and cooed softly to him.

Ælred swiftly weaved through the crowd and knelt down to embrace his mother. She squeezed him as tightly as her feeble arms would allow and cupped his head in her hands, kissing him hard on the forehead. "You did not go with the riders?" she asked.

He pulled away from her before answering. "There was no spare horse for me—else I would have ridden with them." Ælred's gaze turned to me and to his son who was still curled up in my lap. His eyes were soft with concern and relief. "It gladdens me to see that all of you are safe."

"Thanks are to Lady Rebecca for assisting me," Celwyn said and shifted her weight onto her good hip.

"Thank you," Ælred said to me, his intense eyes never leaving mine.

"I wasn't about to leave her behind," I replied, rested my cheek atop Ældenbrand's head, and breathed slowly to calm my pulsating muscles. All that speed-walking made me tired.

"Oh, look, Ælred," said Celwyn. "Helm's Deep! We're safe!" She pointed to a large stone structure across a vast valley between the mountains. It seemed to have been built directly into the mountainside, much like Mount Rushmore in South Dakota.

I heaved a sigh of relief and thanked God the hard walking was almost over—just this last stretch of land, and we've made it.


	7. Soothsayer or Naysayer?

A/N: I apologize, but this chapter is a little longer than the others, I think. I am excited, though; this story is coming along better than I expected. Thanks to all of my reviewers! Your feedback has given me that extra push to keep going. Critique is still welcome.

XxXXxXx

Helm's Deep was impressive, at least to my eyes. I had never been inside any sort of fortress or castle before now. I stood on one of the battlements, leaning slightly over the side to get a better look at the Deeping Wall—it seemed to stretch on for miles, even into the rock face of the mountain. Behind the wall, the people of the West Fold and Edoras clustered together into make-shift camps, ready to move at a moment's notice. A small pool lay near the base of the wall and drained into a small stream through a culvert underneath the wall.

"Careful, milady," one of the soldiers said as he gently grabbed my shoulder. "The ground below us is quite unforgiving, should you fall over."

"Thank you," I said and took a step backward. With a curt nod to the soldiers, I picked up my skirts and left the battlement to assist Éowyn with the food distribution; most of it needed to be taken into the caves. She put me to work and sent me off with a basket of fruit and a sack of potatoes.

For an as-yet unidentified reason, however, I was distracted and anxious. I dropped the basket of fruit and fought the urge to swear; I had broken that habit a long time ago—no sense in starting it up again. I knelt down on both knees, dusted some dirt off of the fruit, and hastily put them back in the basket, but I didn't make a move to stand.

A slender hand gently touched my shoulder; it was Legolas, returned from the Warg skirmish. I looked up, unconsciously letting my anxiety show on my face.

"You do not seem well, Lady Rebecca," Legolas said softly.

"No, I'm fine," I said. Legolas knew I was lying; I could see it in his expression. I picked myself up and situated the sack under my arm and the basket on my hip. "Aragorn is gone, isn't he?"

Legolas opened his hand to show me the glowing Evenstar pendant. "I still have hope that he may yet be alive."

"As do I," I said after a moment. I stepped passed him and resumed my trek to the caves. Unexpectedly, the golden-haired elf followed in step next to me, shortening his elegant strides to match my own.

"But that is not what vexes you," he stated.

I regarded him for a moment in silence. Why is he suddenly so interested in my feelings? "No," I said after another moment. "But I do worry about him."

"That is why I came to speak with you," Legolas said. He closed his hand over Arwen's pendant and let his arms hang by his sides, swaying them gently as he walked. "I know you are in love with Aragorn."

So this is why he came to me—to reprimand me. I bit my lip to keep back a smart retort. "I wouldn't call it love," I said. "Surely you of all people can recognize harmless affection."

I descended the stone stairwell into the Glittering Caves. Never before had I seen a cavern of such splendor, as if a master potter had drawn the stalactites and stalagmites from their rocky beds and used his fingers to carve the perfect ripples and cascades. The walls seemed to be filled with jewels of every shape and size and color, capturing the light from every angle and scattering it over every surface. It was like being inside a large disco ball.

"Wow," I whispered. I stood there in silence for a moment before unloading my burdens with the rest of the food stores. Legolas was there with me, as transfixed as I was.

"Gimli will love this place," he said breathlessly. He took another long moment to gaze at the cavern and then turned back to me. "Harmless affection or no, you would do well not to pursue Aragorn any further, for your own sake."

Anger flared hot in my face. "You've got a lot of nerve," I said forcefully. "Barely speaking a word to me the whole time I've been with you guys, and then sticking your pointy little ears in my business." I didn't know what evil spirit had taken over my body, but I stepped closer and got right in his face. "And for your information, I have no intention of pursuing Aragorn. You should be scolding Éowyn, not me!"

Legolas lifted both his eyebrows and titled his head to one side.

Horrified, I clapped a hand over my mouth and took a step back. _I don't think I was supposed to say that_. "I've got to go," I muttered and sprinted up the stairs. I didn't stop until I had found an empty nook near the tower of the horn of Helm Hammerhand. I sequestered myself there, sitting down and hugging my knees to my chest. Tears began to form.

What have I done? Every Legolas fan-girl in the world would kill me if they had seen how nasty I had been toward him; but deep down, I knew I wasn't truly angry with Legolas at all. Why was I so angry? I breathed deeply several times to squelch the overwhelming sense of foreboding that had been ruminating in my mind since I left Edoras. The Battle of the Hornburg would be soon—much too soon for my liking. The Deeping Wall would be breached, the Keep overrun, and the caverns raided. Would we win? So far, everything had happened as it was meant to happen, but who's to say my presence here hasn't fundamentally altered the timeline? There was a distinct possibility that I could die this very night.

I was terrified, to say the least.

My body began to shake as a cool breeze blew around me. I rolled myself into a tighter ball and cried into my knees. _I don't want to die._

"Rebecca," Éowyn called to me. She knelt in front of me and tilted my chin upward so I would meet her clear blue eyes. They were filled with concern. "My dear friend, what has vexed you so?"

I wiped my eyes and tried to answer, but my throat was so swollen from crying that I could only gasp. Éowyn sat down beside me and grabbed my hand with a gentle squeeze. "I'm so scared, Éowyn," I whispered.

"Whatever for?" she replied. "We are safe in Helm's Deep. Saruman cannot reach us here."

"I have a really, really, really bad feeling about this," I said, a little calmer. Éowyn's presence was soothing; I thanked God that she was there with me. My throat relaxed and my breathing steadied so I could think more coherently. I was suddenly struck with an idea. "Éowyn," I said and wiped my swollen eyes.

"Yes?"

"Will you teach me how to use a sword?"

She was slightly taken aback. "Now?"

I nodded. "I've always wanted to learn, and I don't think any of the men will teach me."

The shield-maiden smiled heartily. "Then I am happy to oblige you, my friend." She stood and pulled me up with her. "Come; let us not waste any more time. I shall make a warrior out of you yet."

XxXXxXx

After Éowyn and I snatched a couple of wooden training swords and shields from the armory, we went down to the courtyard behind the Wall and set to work. Éowyn showed me how to hold the sword and shield and how to stand correctly. She taught me a series of basic attacks and parries and a few shield-battle tactics. I had no trouble learning how to position my body and such because I had taken a fencing class a few semesters ago.

Sparring, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.

Éowyn was a hard task-master; she spared no mercy for me, only holding back when she felt I needed to catch up. After about an hour of rigorous training, she stopped so we could take a rest. Several Rohirrim gathered in a large circle around us, and some of the soldiers on the nearby battlements stopped their activities to watch.

"You are doing well," Éowyn said after taking a long draught of water from a clay mug. She set down the mug and picked up her training sword. "Shall we go again?" She wiped her sweaty forehead and brushed some hair away from her pink cheeks.

I nodded and tightened my grip on my weapon, taking a deep breath to steel myself against the imminent attack. Éowyn swung her blade, and I deflected it with my shield.

"Good," she said. She attacked again, this time from the other side, and I parried her attack. She smiled with satisfaction, and then the smile turned into a devilish smirk; in all my years afterward, I never once wanted to see that smirk again. She unleashed a string of strong and quick attacks, putting my reflexes to the test. Needless to say, I missed quite a few parries and have the bruises on my arms and shins to prove it.

The next time Éowyn attacked, I parried her and counter-attacked, earning from her a look of surprise tempered with pride; her pupil was getting creative. I used whatever attacks I could remember—which was unfortunately limited—and fought as hard as I could, grunting and huffing with each surge of adrenaline.

We went at it for a few more hours, and then Éowyn bade me to go recuperate. "You trained hard and well today," she said as we walked back to the armory to return our weapons. "We must do this again sometime."

I smiled weakly. My entire body was screaming at me for putting it through such arduous exertion. Endorphins coursed through my veins, helping my muscles to relax after the adrenaline rush. I made a mental note to wear something more appropriate next time—a full-length dress was not the ideal exercise outfit. Not only was there caked dirt all over the bottom hem of my gray dress, there were sweat stains around my armpits and neck, and my hair clung to my damp face; I tied it back with a thick black ribbon Éowyn had procured for me.

Overcome by fatigue, I decided to lie down for a nap. Éowyn found a bed pallet for me to use; it wasn't at all comfortable, but at least I wasn't sleeping on the dirt. I fell asleep almost as soon as I closed my eyes.

XxXXxxX

By late afternoon, the sky was beginning to darken with ominous storm clouds, and Aragorn was still missing.

"He should've been back by now," I muttered as I paced in front of the Keep. Éowyn had left a few minutes ago to attend to some other business, leaving me alone with my thoughts. If Aragorn did not return soon, the task would fall to me to warn Théoden about the Uruk-hai army—that was no small undertaking. On the other hand, the more time I spent trying to decide what to do was less time Théoden had to prepare his men. "I can't wait any longer." I picked up my skirts and went to the door of the Keep.

A guard stopped me from entering. "What is your business?"

"I have urgent news for the King," I replied, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin.

The guard studied me for a moment, and then said, "Wait here." He slipped inside the Keep. A few moments later, he returned and beckoned for me to follow him inside. "The Lady Rebecca, milord," he announced and promptly returned to his post.

Théoden stepped away from his strategy charts and folded his arms behind his back. He stood tall and regal, dressed in fine green and burgundy fabrics and sporting a perfectly-trimmed beard to match his light hair. "No couriers have arrived, and the watchmen have reported nothing of concern," he said. "So what news could you possibly have for me, Lady?" he asked.

I bowed slightly in reverence. "Forgive me for interrupting, milord," I replied. How was I supposed to explain what I was about to say? "You may not understand it now, but I do know many things neither you nor your men know."

"You speak much like Gandalf," the King mused with a raised eyebrow. "Do you share his powers of foresight as well? You are his protégé perhaps?"

"King Théoden," I said firmly. If I was going to say something, I had to say it now. "An army of Uruk-hai is marching from Isengard toward Helm's Deep. They will be here by nightfall."

Théoden frowned, forming a deep crease between his bushy eyebrows. "Uruk-hai, you say?"

I nodded.

"How do you know of this?" He approached me and looked directly into my eyes. "How do I know you speak the truth? That this is not simply a ploy to catch us off our guard?"

My nostrils flared in irritation. _He would believe me if I were Aragorn. Nevertheless…_ I knew I was completely deviating from the events of the story, but I was done feeling useless. I had an advantage; I might as well use it. I set my face like a flint, hard and determined. "My lord, Wormtongue has betrayed you to Saruman. He knows you are here at Helm's Deep and how to breach the Deeping Wall."

Théoden's frown deepened. "That is most troubling, but you have not yet answered my question."

"No, I am not Gandalf's protégé," I replied, trying to find the right words to explain myself. "But I have seen with my own eyes what will take place tonight. Saruman's army will attack Helm's Deep and breach the Deeping Wall. You must be prepared." _I really do sound like Gandalf,_ I realized. Even my accent had changed ever so slightly. _This place must be getting to me._

"Breach the Deeping Wall?" one of his captains scoffed. "That's ridiculous. The Wall has never been breached; it is virtually impregnable!"

Théoden raised his hand to silence the man; he complied and set his lips into a thin line. "You say you have seen these things?" Théoden asked. "Then tell me, soothsayer, will we be victorious?"

I almost told him so, but I couldn't risk him getting comfortable. These events must play out as they were meant to be, without Théoden cutting corners. "That remains to be seen," I replied. Oh, how great is the burden of knowledge, when that which you know can never be told.

Théoden lowered his head and stroked his chin in deep contemplation. "How great is this army?" he asked without looking up.

"Ten thousand at least," I replied.

Théoden cursed under his breath. "Ten thousand!" He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Gamling!"

"Yes, my lord?"

"A warning such as this must not be taken lightly. Mobilize the troops. I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall."

Gamling gave a curt nod and left the Keep.

Théoden turned to me again. "How will they breach the Deeping Wall?"

"Saruman has built a device capable of creating an explosion powerful enough to break through the wall," I answered. I knew I was treading on dangerous ground with this information, but in my mind, anything I could offer would present a strong advantage, as long as the outcome was the same. "It will be inserted into the culvert at the base of the wall and ignited from there."

Théoden nodded in understanding. "What do you advise?"

Oh, I hadn't considered that. Even if they plugged the culvert, the bomb would still have enough power to do an enormous amount of damage. "I have told you all I know, my lord," I replied. "Do as you see fit."

The King gently placed his gloved hand on my shoulder and smiled. "My thanks for your help, Lady Rebecca. I will have the culvert plugged, and I will send the women and children into the caves; you must go with them."

I nodded. "Yes, my lord." I followed Théoden through the large double doors, and saw a battered and weary Aragorn—still very much alive—talking quietly with Legolas and Gimli on the stairs. I inwardly kicked myself; if I hadn't been so impatient, I wouldn't have pre-empted Aragorn's warnings with my own. _Well, what's done is done._

"My lord," Aragorn said as he approached Théoden. I noticed the red and swollen gash on the Ranger's shoulder and grimaced; he didn't smell particularly good either—well, neither did anybody else. "I have ill news."

"Of a great host of Uruk-hai marching on Helm's Deep?" Théoden interrupted.

A puzzled look arose on Aragorn's face. "How did you know?"

Théoden gestured toward me as I stood next to him. "Lady Rebecca was kind enough to inform me. I was unwilling to believe it at first, but you have confirmed her tidings. It seems we have a soothsayer on our side. "

Aragorn stared at me with a suspicious eye; all of the composure I had erected in front of Théoden immediately withered under his gaze. I looked away and nervously twiddled my thumbs. Oblivious to the growing tension between Aragorn and me, Théoden took him by the shoulder and led him away to discuss battle strategy, Legolas and Gimli in tow. I released my breath and bounded down the steps into the courtyard to fetch my bag.

XxxXXxx

A few minutes later, the people began to collect their belongings and move toward the caves. Needing a distraction from my own inner monologue, I snatched up my brown shoulder bag and sought out Celwyn to see if she needed help with her things. Instead, I found Ælred by the pool, sitting on his knees and rolling up a bed pallet; his mother and son were nowhere in sight. I approached the blacksmith from behind but stopped just short of a few feet from him, transfixed by the image of his sturdy back and strong shoulders. I stood there and stared like a love-struck buffoon.

As if sensing my presence, he turned around and stared back at me curiously. "How long have you been standing there?"

His voice brought me out of my trance. "Not long," I answered weakly. I cleared my throat and continued as if nothing had happened. "Can I help you carry something?"

"Nay, Lady," he replied and stood, hoisting his sack of belongings over his shoulder and tucking his bed pallet under the crook of his arm. "But I thank you for the offer." He walked quickly passed me and then abruptly stopped, as if debating something within himself. He turned back to me and took a deep breath. "Would you deign to accompany me to the caves, Lady Rebecca?"

The urge to squeal like a little schoolgirl exploded through my body, but I held it back, channeling it through my eyes and a toothy smile. "Of course," I said and followed after him. I impulsively slipped my arm around his so we wouldn't get separated in the dense crowd of people. I saw him glance down at my arm, and I fancied I saw a flicker of excitement in his eyes, but he said nothing.

As we neared a small nook in one of the glittering caverns, the familiar tinkling of impish laughter floated to my ears. Little Ældenbrand waddled as fast he could on his stubby legs through the crowd and attached himself to his father's leg. Ælred chuckled and mussed his son's mane of blonde hair. The little boy reached his arms upward, indicating the desire to be held, but Ælred shook his head. "My arms are already heavy-laden," he said and then tilted his head toward me. "But Lady Rebecca can carry you."

Ældenbrand smiled with dimpled cheeks and jumped up and down, his little arms reaching up to me. I leaned down, scooped him up, and gently tickled his stomach. The toddler giggled and squirmed and scratched my stomach with his fingertips to tickle me. "Sorry," I said and tickled him again. "Tickling me is not that easy." I heard Ælred laugh softly to himself.

After I stopped tickling the defenseless child and calmed him down, the three of us reached the nook where Celwyn had instructed Ælred to meet her. As we approached, she was laying down bed pallets in case we were to spend the night in the caverns. Ælred set down his burdens and gently hugged his mother in greeting, but her wrinkled face was somber. "You must go with the soldiers?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Ælred nodded and managed a small smile to reassure her. "As long as we draw breath, the enemy will never prevail. Fear not for me, Mother."

"Fight hard, my son." Celwyn closed her eyes and kissed her son on the cheek. She sat down on a pallet. I set Ældenbrand on the ground, and he scampered into her lap.

"Lady Rebecca," Ælred said. He touched my elbow and led me a little way out of Celwyn's earshot. "I have something to give you, if you would have it." He unbuckled something from his belt and laid it in my outstretched hands. It was a dagger, about as long as my forearm from the tip of the blade to the pommel. I drew it from its hard leather sheath; the blade was notched from wear, but otherwise it was in good condition.

"Thank you," I said breathlessly. "But why would you give me this? I think you need it more than I do." I looked into his eyes; they were such a beautiful shade of blue.

"I saw you sparring with Lady Éowyn this afternoon," he answered. "If anything should go amiss, I want you and my family to have a means of defending yourselves." He looked around the caverns; soldiers were already gathering more men from the civilians. "I must go," he said and turned to leave.

"Ælred, wait," I called. He stopped and turned around, his long blonde hair swishing elegantly over his shoulders. I pulled the ribbon from my hair and tied it around his bicep. "Back home, it's common for a man to take a lady's favor into battle with him—for luck," I explained. "Take this as my favor." He nodded in assent with a small smile. Without a second thought, I flung my arms around his neck and hugged him. I made careful note of his rugged earthy smell and the texture of his tangled hair, locking them away in my memory in case I should never see him again. "Be careful," I whispered.

After a moment of hesitation, Ælred returned my embrace and lightly kissed my cheek. "We will meet again, Rebecca." He pulled away and took a few steps backward before turning around completely.

I watched him walk away and touched the place on my cheek where he had kissed me. A few tears escaped my eyes, but I wiped them away and returned to Celwyn and Ældenbrand, lowering myself cross-legged onto a pallet. I set the dagger on the ground beside me; I hoped I would not have to use it.

Celwyn studied me with weary, yet comforting eyes. "It seems my son has taken quite a liking to you," she said, smiling.

I laughed half-heartedly. "The feeling is mutual," I replied.

"He is a man of few words," she continued and began rocking Ældenbrand gently back and forth. "But these last few days, almost every word he has spoken has been about you."

That piqued my curiosity. "Really? What did he say?"

Celwyn smiled wryly but did not answer.

XxXxxXxX

A/N: I was reading through the Encyclopedia of Arda today to help me with the next chapter, and so I want to apologize to all of the hard-core book fans—who are probably not even reading this story because it's in movie-verse, but even so—I haven't read the _Two Towers _in so long that I had no idea how much the movie deviated from the book. Please forgive my ignorance. To make up for it, I'll read the books again sometime and try my hand at a book-based fanfic, maybe even for the _Silmarillion_ as well.

Btw, _Ælred _is a shortened version of the Anglo-Saxon name _Æðelred _meaning "noble counsel."


	8. Song of Exile

A somber silence fell on the Glittering Caves. Mothers hugged their young children close their bosoms, silently praying for the safety of their husbands. The people huddled together in small groups to find comfort and safety with each other. Éowyn, on the other hand, was sitting alone up against a thick column, her knees pulled to her chest.

"May I join you?" I asked quietly as I sat down beside her. She gave me a weak smile, but it seemed the rest of her face had no will to support it. I hadn't been there to see what had happened, but I knew why she was so solemn.

"I should be out there fighting with them," she said with a frustrated sigh. "I do not feel right about cowering in the caves when I could stand and fight."

"Éowyn, would you feel right about leaving your people with no leader to turn to?" I looked directly into her eyes. "We need you here."

She tore her gaze away from mine and screwed her eyes shut. "Lord Aragorn told me as much."

"You should listen to him," I added. "He knows what he's talking about."

Éowyn did not speak for a few long moments. When she finally did speak, she was eerily quiet. "I have made a horrible fool of myself."

"It happens to the best of us."

"You do not understand," she said vehemently. "I told Lord Aragorn that I—" She paused to collect herself. "That I loved him." She turned to me with a few tears collecting under her eyes. "And he said nothing." I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, but thought it best not to say anything about Aragorn. She rested her head on my shoulder and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "Thank you for being here with me, Rebecca," she whispered.

At that moment, the peal of a horn resounded through the caverns. I smiled to myself, but the other women began to panic. "They're here!" one of them shouted. "The enemy is upon us!"

"Have they come so soon?" Éowyn said as she jumped to her feet.

"No," I said and stood to my feet as well. "It's all right. The Elves have arrived."

"Elves?" Éowyn looked at me incredulously. "What Elves?"

"A company from Rivendell," I explained. "Sent by Lord Elrond."

"Then we have some hope of success," Éowyn said with a sigh of relief. With a renewed vigor, she went around the cavern to each group of people, comforting them and giving them strength.

I smiled and returned to Celwyn and Ældenbrand. As I sat down on a pallet, the drowsy toddler climbed from Celwyn's lap into mine. I hugged him and kissed the top of his head; like any other little boy, he grimaced and wiped the girl-cooties off of his hair. Celwyn and I sat in silence for a long time as Ældenbrand played with my unbound—an unwashed—hair. He soon grew bored and clambered out of my lap to find something to do. He marveled at the sparkling things in the cavern walls, watching in wonder as little specks of light reflected onto his hands.

Suddenly, a clap of thunder roared outside, causing the cavern to rumble. With a startled yelp, Ældenbrand jumped back into my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. Celwyn placed her hand on her chest. "That was quite loud," she said in jest. She stroked her grandson's arm and cooed, "It's all right, child. Thunder cannot hurt you."

I frowned. In the movie, it had started to rain just before the Uruk-hai arrived. They would be here very soon. The pit of my stomach dropped, and my nerves began to tingle with fear and adrenaline, like I was in the waiting period just before a big performance or nearing the crest of a hill on a roller-coaster.

A few minutes later, the ground began to tremble. The women started to panic again, this time for good reason. "So it begins," I whispered. Ældenbrand began to cry into my bosom. I rubbed his back to calm him, but he was inconsolable. The rumbling grew louder and more intense, and Ældenbrand wailed louder. Celwyn tried to take him, but he wouldn't let go of me, so I closed my eyes and began to sing.

"_Land of bear and land of eagle,_

_Land that gave us birth and blessing,_

_Land that called us ever homewards,_

_We will go home across the mountains…"_

My voice was a little unsteady and not as beautiful as the original singer of this song, but that didn't matter to Ældenbrand. As I gently rocked him back and forth, lulling him into stillness, he stopped crying, and his eyelids began to droop.

"_Hear our singing, hear our longing_

_We will go home across the mountains._

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains…"_

I finished my song with a soft sigh and stroked Ældenbrand's dirty blonde hair. His steady breathing told me he had fallen asleep, just as the first time I had held him. I kissed his head and continued to rock him tenderly, not only for his sake, but for my own; I was glad for the distraction from the ongoing battle raging outside the cavern walls. The ground still trembled under the stress of the battle, but I was able to ignore it.

"His mother used to sing to him," Celwyn said quietly, once again scrutinizing me with her intense brown eyes.

A thunderous explosion shook the caverns, knocking people off their feet and breaking some stalactites from their anchors in the cavern ceiling. The spike-like rocks fell and shattered on the floor as the people scrambled to get out of the way. Some of the children, as well as their mothers, began to cry in fear. I hastily set Ældenbrand in Celwyn's lap and rushed to Éowyn. "The Deeping Wall has been breached!" I whispered urgently. As I had feared, plugging the culvert wasn't enough to stop them.

"How do you know this?" Éowyn asked, matching my hushed tone, but I didn't have time to explain. It would only be a matter of minutes before the Uruk-hai would overrun the Keep.

"I have seen it. Trust me." I grabbed her shoulder and looked into her eyes. She still looked skeptical, but I didn't know what else to say to make her believe me. Instead, Éowyn sprinted up the passage into the Keep, much to the shock and surprise of her fearful people. All of us waited for her return in a tense and awkward silence.

Only a minute later, she quietly re-entered the caverns, her face grave, and gave me an understanding nod; she had seen it for herself. She looked at the frightened faces around her. I could see on her face that she was formulating a contingency plan. "Everyone, hear me!" she shouted. A hush fell upon the crowd. Éowyn positioned herself on an elevated ledge so she could be seen. "Our situation has turned dire. The Deeping Wall has been breached." A few gasps and mutters escaped into the air. "I know your thoughts," she continued. "But we must not lose hope. We must be strong for our husbands, our sons, our brothers." Her voice rose in intensity. "We may be but women, but we are Rohirrim! We are the women of the Riddermark, and we will prevail!" A great cheer arose from the people, echoing throughout the cavern; they began to applaud, but Éowyn raised her hand to quiet them. "I have a plan that we may arm ourselves against our attackers, but I will not obligate you. I ask this not as the niece of Théoden your king, but as your friend and sister Rohirrim. Who will join me?"

To be honest, I seriously considered not volunteering. On the one hand, Éowyn had most likely concocted a dangerous scheme that would involve fighting with sharp and pointed objects; no matter the lessons I had taken from her earlier today, I was no warrior, not to mention I was afraid. What would I be fighting for anyway? I was an outsider with no ties to Rohan—or to Middle-Earth, for that matter. All of my experience with Middle-Earth before the shower incident had been merely ink on a page and images on a screen. On the other hand, Éowyn was my friend; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't look past my fear and support her? _God, please help me conquer my fear,_ I prayed.

"I will go with you, my friend," I said and stepped forward.

XxXXxXx

A/N: Gah! Sorry this chapter was so short, but I did that on purpose. devilish smirk The sections of verse in italics are excerpts from a song called "Song of Exile," sung by the character Venora from the 2004 movie _King Arthur._ You can type "song of exile" into the search box on youtube if you would like to hear the song as it was sung in the movie. The actress does a lovely job, much better than I could have done.


	9. Decapitation and Righteous Fury

A/N: Chapter 9! I'm so excited! I've really hit a writing streak this week. :D

XxXXxXxx

Unfortunately for me, my previous intuition had been correct. I found myself skulking behind Éowyn to the large double doors leading outside Théoden's throne room in the Keep. Éowyn gently pulled one of the doors open just enough for her to see outside.

"Is our way clear?" the young woman behind me whispered. Her name was Sigrún; she and the woman next to her, Brynhildr, had been the only others to volunteer. They looked alike enough to be sisters, but--in fact--they were cousins. Both were red-heads with fiery personalities to match. From the way I had seen Éowyn react to their willingness, she thought highly of both of them.

"Not a soul to stop us," Éowyn replied, a fleeting manic smile crossing her face.

_That's strange,_ I thought. _They must have left to brace the gate. _I took a deep breath and slipped after Éowyn through the crack between the doors. Brynhildr left the doors open slightly so we could slip inside easily once our task was complete. _I can't believe I'm actually doing this, _I thought fearfully. I checked to make sure Ælred 's dagger was still buckled around my waist, and then checked, and checked again—I have always been paranoid about forgetting things, and being in Middle-Earth hadn't changed that. The three Rohirric women and I stalked down the stone stairs, slowly at first, and then gained speed as we neared our destination. The metallic clash of swords and the piercing twang of arrows permeated the dark night around us, but we pressed onward. We reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs and veered left into a narrow corridor leading deeper into the Keep; we were headed for the armory.

"Sigrún," Éowyn said when we reached the dimly-lit armory. The young woman nodded and produced a large brown sack for Éowyn, which she took with a nod of thanks and set it on a small table in the corner of the room. "There is not much left, but we will take as much as we can carry," she instructed, and we set to work.

As planned, I went straight for the sword rack. It's true—the soldiers had virtually cleared this place of any usable weapon, but there were still a few left to salvage. I grabbed all the swords from the rack—all four of them, notches, rust, and all—and hastily put them in the brown sack. Sigrún added a few battle axes, heavily notched with splintered handles, but still usable. Brynhildr found some knives and dirks to add to our collection. Éowyn, knowing exactly where to look, found some bows and a handful of arrows. All of the shields had been taken, but there was one spear—broken in half, of course—and several battle staves left. I supposed the soldiers hadn't wanted them at all—oh well, more for us.

As we searched and scoured for more weapons, several shouts resounded from outside, stopping us dead in our steps. "They have broken through!" "Retreat!" "Fall back to the Keep!"

We exchanged panicked glances, but Éowyn held her resolve. She nodded that it was time for us to leave. Sigrún grabbed the sack of weapons, whilst the rest of us took the battle staves, and Éowyn carried the broken spear and one of the swords. We sprinted up stairs through the narrow corridor and reached the landing just before the Uruk-hai. Unfortunately, Théoden had already begun to barricade him and his men inside his throne room. Éowyn pounded on the door and screamed to be let inside. Sigrún joined her as Brynhildr and I readied our staves for the onslaught of Uruk-hai; their stench was worse than the Wargs. I didn't know the intricacies of the battle staff, but watching Gabrielle from _Xena: Warrior Princess_ would have to be enough.

It was as if time slowed to a crawl. The bulky forms of the Uruk-hai thundered up the steps, but in my eyes, they were running as if through jello. My blood pounded in my ears, drowning out Éowyn's brutish cries and the clamor of the Uruks' feet. Just before the Uruk-hai reached our position, the doors opened and we rushed inside, panting with fear and adrenaline—well, I was the one panting. I clutched my chest and bent over to keep myself from hyperventilating. I had come so close—so close.

I never wanted to be there again.

Aragorn, his worried face streaked with dirt and blood, began to scold Éowyn for leaving the caverns, but she came back with her own rebuke. "What would you have me do?" she said firmly. "We were left defenseless!" Without another word or look toward Aragorn, she ran through the passage into the caves, Sigrún, Brynhildr, and me following close behind her. I looked back at Aragorn, but his attention had already turned toward barricading the door.

Éowyn dropped the sack of weaponry on the ground in the midst of the frightened people. "Take a weapon if you feel confident enough to wield it!" she shouted. "No one will look down upon you if you do not." Several older women, seasoned from child-rearing and being soldier-wives, stepped forward and took a weapon from the bag. Once all the weapons had been taken, Éowyn smiled with satisfaction.

Gamling emerged from the cave entrance and shouted, "Lady Éowyn, I bring word from Lord Aragorn that the women and children are to make for the mountain pass!" He paused for a moment, surveying the renewed determination in the people's eyes and the weapons in their hands.

Éowyn nodded and addressed one of the women without a weapon. "Lind, take the children and the elderly into the mountains. We will stay behind for a little while in case you are pursued."

With a curt nod, the young blonde woman began to usher the unarmed toward a small corridor opening in the opposite end of the cavern. The rest of us positioned ourselves behind columns and stalagmites facing the entrance of the cavern. I felt something wrap around the back of my leg; my heart ached with regret as I looked down on Ældenbrand's tear-stained face. "Go with your grandmother," I said. I knelt down and hugged him. "Everything's going to be fine," I whispered and kissed him. He planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek in return.

"Wuv you, mama," he said before Celwyn came and took him up.

"Be careful, Lady Rebecca," she said and left to join the rest of the women.

I just barely fought back the deluge of tears pressing against my eyelids. He had called me _mama; _I didn't fully understand why, but it felt right to hear him say that to me. I stood up, wiped my eyes, and readied my staff.

"Be strong, Rebecca," Éowyn whispered to me. I nodded and silently prayed for courage.

"We will barricade the entrance to keep out the Uruk-hai," Gamling explained to Éowyn. "But do not wait long, my lady."

Éowyn nodded and gripped her sword tighter as Gamling left the caves. "We will wait for a little while." She turned to her left, to the women holding bows—there were four, and each had been given three arrows. "But if any Uruk-hai break through the barricade, do not hesitate to bring them down. Once your arrows are depleted, make for the passage immediately." Each woman nodded in turn and knocked arrows to their bowstrings.

We waited in insufferable silence.

_I might actually have to kill an Uruk-hai this time,_ I realized with nervous gulp.

The cries and growls of the Uruk-hai found their way into the cave. I grimaced and gripped my staff tighter, my blood pounding in my ears again. My stomach churned and gurgled. I looked down and said, "What a great time to be hungry." Sigrún laughed quietly, but the older women didn't seem to find my remark very humorous. They glared at me and then returned their focus to the matter at hand.

There was a clamorous commotion at the entrance to the caves. Éowyn nodded to the archers, and they readied their bows, poised to release. All at once, a handful of Uruk-hai spilled into the caves, and the twang of arrows sliced through the air and hit their marks. Several confused Uruk-hai fell on the first volley, but more of them kept coming. They stormed into the cavern, but the archers only had enough arrows for two more volleys. It was time for hand-to-hand combat.

I vaguely registered Éowyn slicing an Uruk's head clean off of his neck; it was quite impressive that she had had enough strength to do that.

As an Uruk neared my position, he stopped and sniffed the air with a satisfied growl. "I can smell your fear, woman," he spat and swung his scimitar at my head. With a terrified yelp, I ducked and swept his feet out from under him with my staff—which was actually harder than it looked. It took me three swings to bring him down. Before I could strike him, however, he swung his leg upward and kicked my knees from behind. I landed hard on the cavern floor, the wind knocked out of my lungs. He leapt to his feet, bared his glistening incisors, and raised his scimitar for the final blow.

Time began to slow again. I felt a strange out-of-body sensation, as if I was watching this scene from a perspective other than my own. As I saw the bloodied scimitar bearing down upon me, I heard nothing other than the beating of my own heart. I felt nothing other than the instinct to survive.

I jabbed him hard in the groin, stunning him enough to knock him down again. I quickly stood up and struck him hard on the face two more times before unceremoniously stabbing him in the throat. He made a grotesque gurgling sound as black blood spurted from his jugular vein. As I looked at his convulsing and dying body, I noticed a small piece of fabric clenched in one of his hands. With a grimace, I pulled the blood-stained fabric from between his fingers.

It was my hair ribbon—the one I had given to Ælred.

A fury previously outside my capabilities seared like a hot iron through my body, making my cheeks burn and boiling my blood. I withdrew the dagger from the Uruk's bleeding throat and screamed before stabbing him mercilessly. Both the vile creature and I were a bloody mess before Éowyn finally pulled me away. I screamed again and began to weep without restraint. I clutched the ribbon and the dagger in my blood-stained hands as Éowyn dragged me away toward the mountain pass.

XxXxXx

A/N: I was listening to "We Are Broken" and "Born for This" both by Paramore as I was writing this chapter. It really helped me get in the mood for tension and angst. In fact, I almost cried at one point—I guess that's good cuz I probably would have cried if I had actually been there.

Btw, _Sigrún_ is an Old Norse name meaning "secret victory," and _Brynhildr_ is the Norse cognate for the Germanic name _Brunhild_, which means "battle armor." Both were names of Valkyries in Old Norse legends. Brynhildr was, in fact, the Queen of the Valkyries in the _Volsungasaga. _


	10. A Hard Heart Softened

After what seemed like forever, our little band of warrior-women reached another cavern along the mountain pass, but I had no memory of how I had gotten there. I yanked myself from Éowyn's grasp and ran to a far-away column. Unable to contain myself any longer, I dropped on my hands and knees and dry-heaved. The pain that exploded in my chest from heaving was unbearable, but the urge to vomit was stronger. I had to purge my rage somehow.

After a few long deep breaths, I sat on my heels and looked down at my hands, still clutching the dagger and ribbon until my knuckles were bone-white. My hands were covered in oily black Uruk-hai blood. _What have I done?_ I curled up into a ball, letting my sweat-moistened hair hang in front of my face, and started crying again, only softer this time. A gentle hand closed around my shoulder.

"I am sorry," Éowyn whispered to me. "I asked too much of you."

I shook my head vehemently, but did not speak. My throat was too raw from screaming and crying. With shaky fingers, I slipped the dagger back into its sheath and tied my ribbon around my own bicep. I sat there in sullen silence for a few moments until Éowyn bade me to continue the trek through the mountain pass. We needed to catch up with the rest of the women and children. As I trudged alongside Éowyn in the dark under-earth corridor, my thoughts were a tangled web of shock, anger, and grief, causing a painful pounding sensation between my eyes, as if someone had taken a jackhammer to my forehead. My stomach rumbled with hunger; I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten—this morning, maybe? I didn't know. I barely felt Éowyn slip her hand around mine, but I was so numb that I did not respond.

At length, we stepped into a smaller cavern lit by a few make-shift torches. The other women and the children clapped and cheered as we entered. The warrior-women around me went to their families, hugging their necks and kissing their children. After a moment of hesitation, Éowyn left my side to greet the other women as well. Suddenly finding myself alone, I leaned up against a column and slid downward until I was sitting on the ground with my arms wrapped around my knees.

Celwyn sought me out and knelt in front of me, little Ældenbrand waddling beside her. He smiled and tried to hug me, but seeing the tempestuous look on my face and the blood on my hands, Celwyn held him back. "Lady Rebecca is not well, child," she said quietly against his protests. "Go find your friends." With a huff and an impish scowl, Ældenbrand scampered away, leaving Celwyn and I to talk alone. The old woman grasped my chin with her bony and wrinkled fingers; her skin was uncharacteristically soft and light to the touch. She forced me to look into her deep brown eyes. "Tell me," she said and pointed to the ribbon around my arm. "What has become of you?"

"Ælred is dead," I replied flatly. "But I have slain the foul creature that took his life."

Celwyn's eyes glistened with tears. She gently drew me into an embrace and wept silently into my shoulder, but I could not comfort her. Ælred was dead. I had taken a life—Uruk-hai though it may be. If I hadn't understood post-traumatic stress disorder before, I understood it now. The feel of the Uruk's slick blood on my fingers would haunt my memory for the rest of my life.

XxXxXxX

It took a lot of persuading, but Celwyn finally convinced me to lie down and rest. I lay on one of the women's cloaks and closed my eyes, but the intense pain flaring up in my lower back kept me from falling asleep. I turned over onto my back and pulled my knees to my chest to relieve the tension in my sciatic nerves; it helped ease the pain somewhat. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep again. I felt something lay down and curl up next to me; it was Ældenbrand. He rested his cheek on my bosom and promptly fell asleep. My heart softened, and I managed a small smile. I gently rubbed the child's back and began to hum softly to myself. After a few minutes, I was sleeping, albeit rather uneasily.

_I am standing under a spotlight in a dark room of unknown size. My family and friends are crowded around me within the ring of light. I see my mother—a smiling woman in her early forties whose hair is just starting to show its silver. I see my younger sister, and she smiles at me with her half-crooked smile—a rather endearing feature of hers. With dark brown hair, porcelain skin, and a slender figure, she is much prettier than I; but she has been with me in my darkest hours to tell me that I am beautiful and that she loves me. My father and step-parents are there too, as well as their respective families. _

_Ever so slowly and imperceptibly, the spotlight narrows. Those unfortunate enough to be on the outer rim—past boyfriends and old friends—fade into the dark expanse. At first, I am confused about their disappearance, but a moment later I am unconcerned, as if they had never existed. _

_They have been forgotten. _

XxXxXxX

"Rebecca," Éowyn said as she gently shook me awake. I slowly opened my eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. "Good," Éowyn said and smiled. "The battle is won, my friend. We are returning to Edoras." She helped me to my feet. My vision blurred from standing up too quickly, but otherwise I felt better after my nap—at least, my body did. My heart, on the other hand, was far from mended.

Celwyn and her grandson had already joined the group making the trek back to Helm's Deep. Ældenbrand left his grandmother's side and ran to me with a bright smile on his round face, his arms stretched upward. I swept him into my arms and kissed his face. "I love you, Ældenbrand," I whispered into his ear, remembering what he had said to me before my skirmish.

He wrapped his short arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. "Mama better now?" he cooed. I nodded and rubbed his back as I joined Celwyn in the dark corridor. The walk seemed much shorter than before. As we finally came upon the glittering caverns near the Keep, I saw my rumpled brown shoulder bag stuffed into a crevice between two stalagmites. With a wry smile, I veered from the group and picked it up.

The carcasses of the Uruk-hai had been moved from the caverns, but their blood and stench remained. I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the black blood stains under my booted feet. I maneuvered my way up the passage into the Keep, careful not to make a false step for Ældenbrand's sake. We were met at the top by several weary Rohirrim who ushered us outside. I drew a long breath, grateful for the chance to breathe cool fresh air again. The sun was low in the clear morning sky, but at least I could see it now.

Éowyn gasped and rushed past me to a familiar face: Aragorn. She threw her arms around him and told him how glad she was to see him alive and well. He looked tired, to say the least.

"I am glad that you are well also," he replied and tentatively returned her embrace. "And you as well, Lady Rebecca," he said to me as I approached.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel giddy around him. I might have been too exhausted, but I had a feeling that my crush on Aragorn had come to an end, and I was thankful. I smiled weakly. "I'm a little worse for wear," I replied. "But I'm fine now." Ældenbrand sighed against my neck.

"We will see you in Edoras?" Éowyn asked Aragorn before she followed me down the stone steps. Aragorn nodded and smiled.

I caught a glimpse of a helmeted soldier standing on the landing at the bottom the stairs. My heart skipped a beat, half-hoping he was Ælred. The soldier removed his helmet, and my face fell. It wasn't him. I sighed and followed the women down the next flight of stone stairs.

XxXxXxX

I spent the next day and a half—the time it took for all of the people to trek back to Edoras—ruminating somberly about my situation. Gandalf had returned with Éomer just in time to turn the battle in our favor, but—I remembered—there were still many things Gandalf had to do before even considering how to send me back home. I would be stuck in Middle-Earth until this war ended. Thankfully, I had Éowyn, Celwyn, and Ældenbrand, but I had to return home sometime. My family must be worried about me.

_Are they? _My cynical side asked. _Would they really want me back if they knew what I had done? _

I shoved that thought to the back of my mind and re-situated the sack of potatoes over my shoulder. Ældenbrand toddled beside me, carrying his own small sack of provisions. Celwyn was on my other side with a basket of vegetables in her arms. Éowyn had moved to the front of the column.

"There is something I must confess, Lady Rebecca," Celwyn said to me. I tilted my face to her in understanding. "I was wary to believe my own eyes at first, but now I know otherwise. Your resemblance to Branwyn is uncanny."

I was curious, as well as confused. "Who is Branwyn?"

"Perhaps I should have held my tongue," Celwyn said with a wry smile on her wrinkled lips. "Branwyn was Ælred's wife."

The sound of his name sent chills down my spine. "Is that why both you and Ælred stare at me sometimes?"

Celwyn nodded. "And why little Ældenbrand is taken with you. You remind us all of her."

My heart sank. Ælred had only showed interest in me because I looked like his dead wife—how comforting. The last thing I needed was to be compared to a dead lover. I needed to change the topic of conversation before I did or said something foolish.

Fortunately for me, Celwyn sensed my unease. "My apologies, Lady," she said. "We will not speak of this now."

The day drew onward as we pressed toward Edoras along the mountains. The Golden Hall of Meduseld was visible in the distance, a shining pinnacle of safety, but there were still a few more hours left in our journey. Some of the people cried out in relief; others, such as myself, remained sullen and reclusive. I looked over my shoulder and released a heavy sigh. All of the excitement I had felt upon my arrival to Middle-Earth was gone; I just wanted to go home.

XxXXxXxX

A/N: Unfortunately, my updating streak is winding down. I've just gone and wore myself out, kind of like my OC. You'd be surprised how tired I was after writing about the battle; it took a lot out of me emotionally. This chapter was basically a little bit of filler to transition into the next part of the story which takes place during _Return of the King._ I won't leave this story untouched for months on end like I had done previously, but I am going to take a break to recharge for my next writing spree. Thanks to all of my reviewers! Your support means the world to me.

God bless,

HiddenValor


	11. Hail, the Victorious Dead!

A/N: Yay! I'm back!

/silence/

Well, don't sound so excited. :P Anyway, here's the next chapter, but unless I can get juiced up again with a surge of creative juice, I don't expect to be on an updating spree this time…my apologies. I've been kind of busy lately, from final exams to couch potato to a not-so-secret project that I have recently joined. It's called the Silmarillion Film Project. You can Google it to find the main discussion board; poke around and see if you would like to get involved as well. Anyway, back to the story. From this point, I'll have to delve into the book some to fill in some of the time gaps. Please enjoy and leave a comment.

Disclaimer: I do not own any person, place, or thing associated with the Lord of the Rings; those belong to Tolkien and the other proper rights owners. I own my OCs and that's about it.

* * *

My mug was full to the brim of liquid I had no intention of drinking. I took a whiff of the stuff and crinkled my nose at the pungent and unfamiliar odor.

"A sour look should not ruin such a pretty face," Celwyn said to me. "Is your ale not to your liking?"

I shook my head but tried to smile. "I'm just not in a partying mood at the moment." I traced the handle on my mug with my fingertip and looked around. Despite its size, the hall was bright and packed full of people like a sardine can. There were cheers, drinking, and much merriment. It was our victory party, so to speak. Men drew together around the sturdy wooden tables, playing drinking games and laughing with each other. Even the hobbits, newly arrived from Isengard, joined the gaiety. Men gathered round and clapped for them as Merry and Pippin danced upon a table top, singing and clanging their mugs together.

All the songs and laughter, however, did little to ease the state of indifference into which I had fallen. Images from the battle at Helm's Deep invaded my thoughts. Scenes from the movie and from my own experience meshed together into one disjointed lump of information so that I could not distinguish one from the other. Only a few times in my life have I been so close to death without dying myself, and they were not proud moments for me. I have always been uncomfortable—scared, even—around dead bodies, and being in Middle-earth has only seemed to exacerbate my distress. It seemed I had underestimated the price I would have to pay to be in Middle-earth. Forget about the trouble I could cause to the _time-line_—what was happening to _me_? Something inside me was changing, but I could not yet determine whether it was for good or ill—the notion frightened me a little.

_I don't belong here,_ I thought somberly. _I was not made for this place._

My reverie was broken when Ældenbrand stood on the wooden bench next to me and jumped up and down on his stout little legs. He clapped for the hobbits and giggled infectiously to show his approval. His cheeks dimpled when he grinned. I managed a small smile on his behalf.

At once, he lost his footing and began to fall backward. With wide eyes and a stifled cry, I twisted around and caught him before he hit the floor. To mask my sudden fright, I gasped and cradled the toddler to my bosom, tickling his stomach. He tried to curl into a ball to protect himself, but I held him fast. When he was finally out of breath, I released my grip and set him down between Celwyn and me. He leaned his flaxen curly head on his grandmother's arm and sighed, trying to catch his breath.

"You should mingle," Celwyn suggested as she tousled her grandson's curls. "What kind of a party would we have if everyone kept to themselves, hm?" She smiled wryly and squeezed my arm with her long bony fingers. The amber torchlight played on her gentle face, and I was struck by how beautiful she was, even in her old age. The web of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth only accented her warmhearted smile and seemed to brighten her eyes. I knew immediately that she had given me wise advice.

I straightened my shoulders and nodded. "You're right," I replied, standing and straightening the front of my burgundy dress; it was horribly wrinkled from being stuffed in a sack for four days, but it was still good to wear. I might as well talk around since I had taken the time to dress myself presentably and fix my hair like Éowyn's. It would be a waste to barricade myself in a corner. Besides, I needed a distraction from my inner monologue. I stepped over the wooden bench and drew my arms to my chest as I pressed onward through the sea of Rohirrim. I took a deep breath; crowds were not my cup of tea.

I eventually found myself at one of the ale kegs, watching Gimli fall backward in a drunken stupor from his seat. A pyramid of used ale mugs sat on the table in front of him.

"Game over," Legolas said triumphantly, but I could see the sparkle of intoxication in his blue eyes.

I knelt down and grasped the inebriated Dwarf by his broad shoulders, pushing him with a heave to a sitting position on the stone floor. "You were doomed from the start, my friend," I said playfully. "Elves have a remarkable tolerance for liquor." Legolas studied his own fingers as he rubbed them together, contemplating the tingling in his extremities. I also noticed a slight sway in his bearing, as if the ale had thrown off his equilibrium.

Gimli grumbled something unintelligible into his froth-covered beard and snorted.

"He'll have a mighty strong pain in his head tomorrow," Éomer said to me with a devilish smirk in his goatee. "But he'll be all right."

"Of both I have no doubt," I replied and stood. "He's made of stern stuff." I tilted my head to one side. _'Stern stuff'? This place must really be getting to me if I'm talking like _that.

"You must be Rebecca, the woman my sister has oft spoken of," Éomer continued and took a sip of his ale. He was dressed in a long dark green tunic, and his sandy hair hung free over his shoulders in loose waves. In face he looked much like Éowyn—more so in person than on the silver screen—and in bearing he was tall and proud, almost like a younger version of Théoden.

"Yep, that's me." I cringed inwardly. _Well, that was smooth._

"Lady Rebecca," Legolas interjected. He inclined his flaxen head to one side and looked at me thoughtfully. "You look quite lovely tonight, if I may be so forward." He lifted his slender eyebrows and shot me a loose smile.

"Thank you," I said immediately, shocked and flattered that _the_ Legolas Greenleaf had deigned to give me a compliment; he hiccupped (I never thought I would live to see an Elf hiccup), and then I remembered that he was drunk. People always look more attractive under the influence of alcohol (or so I've heard).

What a way to kill a moment.

I shook my head and scrubbed my cheeks with my hands. "I'll just go now before he makes a complete fool of himself," I said to Éomer. The Rider smirked and sipped his ale. "I'll come back and check on Gimli later." I went to Legolas and laid my hand on his arm; he looked down at me with a small smile and blinked sluggishly. If I played my cards right, I could hold this over him for a long time—but that wouldn't be right of me; I wasn't good at blackmail anyway. I patted his arm and walked away.

Next, I came upon Éowyn standing alone, eyebrows and mouth relaxed in an aloof expression. She took a slow deep breath and sighed contentedly as I approached.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," I said warmly.

"Very much so," she replied quietly.

"Might I say, you look lovely," I said, taking careful note of the blue gown she wore—the loveliest of the lot, but it had never actually made it on-screen. While Rohirric in origin, the dress's long and flowing lines hinted toward Elvish influence, giving Éowyn a softer and ethereal appearance. She had also pinned a few sections of her wavy hair behind her head in the traditional Rohirric style.

"Thank you," she said, but did not look at me. I turned to follow the focus of her gaze, and my stomach twisted a little in foreboding. There was Aragorn, in all his rugged handsomeness, talking quietly with a group of dark-haired men dressed in similar fashion. I frowned and stepped closer, gesturing for Éowyn to follow. We casually hid behind one of the pillars. "What is the matter, Rebecca?"

"I don't recognize those men," I replied. I shifted my gaze from dark man to dark man, trying to place their faces in my memory. I prided myself in my ability to remember faces, but I had not seen these before.

"I do not see why you would," Éowyn said, non-chalant. "They are Rangers from the North—Lord Aragorn's kin." She drew closer to me and pointed to another pair of men; they looked alike enough to be twins, but they were dressed differently than the others—in light colors like blue and white.

I squinted; they were twins, all right—long dark hair, handsome slender faces, and…pointed ears. _Elladan and Elrohir?_ I thought with eyes wide as dinner plates. "What are _they_ doing here?" I whispered.

"You know them?" Éowyn asked. She looked at me quizzically and lowered her arm.

"Not personally, no," I replied. "They're the sons of Lord Elrond in Rivendell."

"More Elves," Éowyn mused with a smile. "Never in my life have I dreamed of seeing so many of them. They are a wonder to me."

"They certainly are," I replied, but my attention was drawn elsewhere. On the other side of the hall—at the entrance—I saw Celwyn with Ældenbrand on her hip slip through the double doors. A moment later, a man with long blonde hair went through the doors after her, but his face was shrouded in the shadows so I didn't know who he was. I didn't like his shady demeanor. Growing suddenly suspicious, I excused myself from Éowyn and squeezed myself through the crowd to get to the entrance. What idiot man would prey on people at a victory celebration I had no idea, but Celwyn could be in trouble.

I stepped outside and scanned the main road in front of the hall for my charge, but the torchlight from the terrace only reached so far. Gathering the front of my skirt, I quietly stalked down the stone steps and hid behind the nearest house, peering around the corner as much as I dared. In the silvery moonlight, I saw the form of a man coming upon a smaller and slower Celwyn; her white hair was unmistakable under the moon. I crept onto the porch of the house and grabbed a broom for security. I should have brought someone with me—Aragorn, at least. How foolish I was to go after an assailant by myself.

All at once, Celwyn cried aloud and dropped limply to the ground, sending her little bundle of a grandson tumbling into the grass.

_Oh no! _I thought in a panic. As the man knelt beside her, I approached him from behind as quickly as I dared and raised the broom. Before he could stop me, I smacked the assailant on the back of the head with the bristle end of the broom. He groaned and rubbed the back of his tousled head. Ældenbrand sat up, covered his mouth, and giggled into his fingers. "Back away or I swear I'll hit you again," I demanded, putting all my strength into my voice and tightening my grip on the wooden broomstick.

"Let's not be rash, milady," he replied.

I frowned. _That voice…_

The man stood and turned around to face me. With a gasp, I dropped my broom and covered my mouth. My heart began to pump like mad, pounding my pulse in my ears, and my stomach knotted into a tight pretzel.

It was Ælred.


	12. Curiosity is the Bane of My Existence

A/N: So many hits on the last chapter! That makes me smile. I'm sure you all breathed a sigh of relief when Ælred was not dead /tee-hee/.

Disclaimer: Same as previous chapters.

* * *

"What?" I whispered. Disbelieving, I stepped backward, catching my heel on a stone jutting from the ground, and fell flat on my rear with a distinct _oomph_! My clumsiness was catching up to me again.

With a compassionate grin, Ælred extended his hand and pulled me up effortlessly. His strong hand was calloused and rough from blacksmith's work. There was also dirt under his fingernails, but I chose to ignore that in favor of his face. It seemed like an age since I had last seen him; his face was bruised around his cheekbones, but he was nonetheless handsome—and alive.

After my initial shock has subsided, I was so overcome with some unidentifiable emotion that—before I could restrain myself—I flung my arms around his neck and dug my fingertips into his soft green tunic. "I thought you were dead," I whispered.

"I had neither the will nor desire to die," he replied in a soft voice. He touched the black ribbon around my arm. "I am sorry that I let that vile Orc take this from me. It must have caused you much grief."

_Grief enough to kill it_, I thought glumly. _Why was I so attached to him anyway?_ I pulled away awkwardly, clearing my throat and shuffling my feet. A smothering silence settled between us.

Ældenbrand took this opportunity to latch himself onto his father's leg. He nuzzled his face into the back of Ælred's knee and grinned. "Missed Daddy lots," he said. In one smooth motion, Ælred swept his son into his arms, tossed him into the air, and caught him under his armpits before squeezing him in a hug. "I missed you too, my son," he replied playfully. The child giggled with glee and hugged his father's neck.

My heart fell down to my toes. They were so happy, and as attached to this little family as I was, I felt as though I was intruding. I don't think Branwyn would appreciate me pining after her husband. "I should be getting back," I said hesitantly. Ælred looked at me with concern, as well as confusion. "Lady Éowyn is probably wondering where I have gotten off to," I continued with a wan smile.

Ælred nodded, set Ældenbrand on the ground, and scooped his still-unconscious mother into his arms. I turned to go back to Meduseld, but Ælred called to me before I even took a step. "May I call on you in the morning?"

A crease formed between my eyebrows. "Um, sure," I stammered. What else was I supposed to say? _"Nope, sorry. I'm having conflicting emotions right now, so it would be best if we didn't see each other for a while." _

_Yeah, right_. That ploy might have worked back on Earth, but I didn't exactly have the time or skill to play silly dating games. The War of the Ring was approaching its end, and with it, the sorting-out of my own mess. _All the more reason why you shouldn't get too attached to him,_ my cynical side quipped. _You're treading on dangerous ground again. _"See you in the morning then," I replied in spite of myself.

"Good night, Rebecca."

"Good night." A tingling blush rose to my cheeks as I turned and walked back up the main road. I took up a fistful of my skirt and sprinted up the stone steps in front of the hall. Upon reaching the double door, I glanced over my shoulder to get a glimpse of Ælred again, but he had disappeared into the darkness of the night.

* * *

After the celebration had wound down some, I remembered my words with Éomer and set out to find Gimli. The stout Dwarf lay slumped against a table-top, snoring loudly with a half-emptied mug of ale clutched in his gloved hand. Legolas sat across the table from him, leaning heavily on his up-propped arm; his brilliant blue eyes were still hazy from intoxication. "I think my Naugrim friend has passed for the night," the Elf said to me with a slight slur in his speech.

I regarded both of them for a moment—Legolas in his fancy blue cocktail tunic and Gimli with his bushy mane of coarse auburn hair—and then nodded my agreement. It was time for both of them to retire. "Let's get him to his bed then, shall we?"

Legolas stood uneasily and positioned himself behind Gimli, wrapping his slender but strong arms around the Dwarf's torso. I bent down and held each of Gimli's legs in the crooks of my arms. With a grunt, I stood and heaved Gimli's thick legs up with me. We carried him a little way through the corridor to a large room riddled with bed pallets—some already occupied.

Legolas turned into the room too sharply, causing Gimli's head to bump into the wooden doorframe. "Dwarves…hairy women…" Gimli grunted but didn't wake. The Elf bit his lower lip and shot an apologetic glance at me. _Maybe I should have carried his head,_ I thought ruefully. We set Gimli on his bed pallet not far from the door, and then Legolas excused himself—something about "getting some air."

I pulled the blankets over Gimli and tucked them underneath his shoulders to keep him warm. "Silly Elf," he muttered in his sleep. "Can't hold his liquor."

I smiled and made to stand, but upon turning, my eyes chanced to see a slumbering Gandalf in the corner of the room, the cloth-covered palantír peeking out of his travel bag. Silently and stealthily, I crept on all fours through the maze of bed pallets. I knew not what drew me there, but the urge to touch the palantír was so strong that I almost could not restrain myself. It was as if I could only watch from afar and scream to stay my hand as I drew closer to the seeing stone.

Ignoring Gandalf's unnerving sleep-stare, I set my fingers gingerly upon the blue cloth wrapped around the stone. As if sensing my presence, the stone warmed comfortingly, bidding me to touch it. I peeled back a little of the cloth. The vacuum of tension around me pulled all the air from my lungs, forcing my breaths to quicken. A bead of sweat fell down my neck. My fingers were so close to the glowing orb. Time seemed to stop.

As my fingertips touched the black smooth surface of the stone, I saw Sauron for a brief instant, but it was not the Eye of Sauron as one would expect. He was beautiful—more beautiful than any man I have ever before seen—or afterwards, for that matter. I recognized this form—Annatar, the Giver of Gifts; it was a form he could no longer take physically.

"What are you hiding from me?" he whispered seductively into my ear.

For a moment, his mind barely brushed against mine, almost like a soft breeze, and I was filled with an incredible terror; so strong it was that I feared my heart would burst. Sauron's fiery gaze pierced me deeply to the center of my soul. As he reached up to touch my face, the pit of my stomach dropped, and I was forcefully ripped back into the real world.

Strong fingers grasped my wrist and stayed my hand. I cried out in pain, but another hand closed over my mouth. I breathed hard through my nose as Gandalf pulled me away from the palantír. He stared me hard in the eyes, reading my panic. He gently cupped my face in his hands and whispered, "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," I replied in a barely-audible murmur.

His shoulders slumped in relief, and his face softened. "Sauron used this stone to enslave many minds toward his purpose. You would do well to put it out of your own mind, lest you fall prey to it as well. Do not think of it again. Do you understand?"

I nodded numbly. Feeling suddenly drained, I began to cry—out of embarrassment and out of withdrawal and out of fear. I felt so—violated, so tainted. For a fleeting moment, I understood how Frodo felt under the influence of the Ring. It must be tearing him apart.

Overcome with compassion, Gandalf held me close to his bosom and let me cry into his robes. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," I kept whispering. He quieted me with a cluck of his tongue and stroked my hair in a fatherly fashion.

"Everything will be all right, my dear," he whispered. "There was nothing he could have learned from you."

"That's not true," I said reluctantly. Perhaps it was time that I came out with the truth. "I know everything."

Gandalf visibly stiffened, but he kept his wits about him. "Everything about what?"

"About Frodo and the Ring," I replied.

Gandalf closed his fingers around my shoulders and made me look into his stormy eyes. "How could you know of such things?"

"It's difficult to explain."

The Istar furrowed his bushy brows in an icy glare. "Try me."

For the first time since I stumbled into Middle-earth, I was truly afraid of Gandalf, as if he would punish me for not telling him what he wanted to know. I began to tremble within his grasp. "In my world," I said timidly. "The events of the War of the Ring have been recorded in some shape or fashion. Almost everyone knows what is going to happen."

Gandalf regarded me for a moment. I could not read his face. "Hmm, yes," he mused. "Aragorn has spoken with me about your knowledge of the host of Uruk-hai at Helm's Deep. I was troubled by it at first, but now I understand."

"So you believe me?"

"Of course I do." He loosened his grip on my shoulders. "Other than your strange appearance in Middle-earth, you have never given me reason not to; there was no lie in your voice or in your eyes. And yet, I am still troubled." He looked sad, almost fearful. "Sauron now knows of your existence. He will come after you if he feels it is necessary, for he likely thinks you are being held prisoner by Saruman, either for information or for possessing his Ring. You are safe for now, for he may yet believe that the stone is still in Orthanc, but be on your guard." He lowered his voice. "I will sleep on this tonight and decide in the morning what should be done with you. I suggest you rest as well."

He took the palantír out of his bag and nestled it between his arm and his bosom as he lay back down on the pallet. "Off with you," he said and shooed me away.

_So that's why he took it to bed with him,_ I realized.

* * *

I remained awake for most of the night, afraid of what I might dream and scolding myself for being so foolish. Why did I look? Why did I _always_ have to look? The door had only been a few paces away; it would have been easier for me to leave, and yet I chose not to do so. I chose to look into the palantír and possibly jeopardize the entire Quest. It was only luck that had saved me from Gandalf's wrath—thankfully, he didn't think I was a spy.

And Sauron—how would I ever forget that? He could have easily ripped the information out of me—everything about Frodo and Gandalf's plans. Once again, it was only luck that had driven Gandalf to free me from the stone at the opportune moment. I probably won't be so lucky next time.

A clamorous commotion from down the corridor stirred me from my stormy thoughts. I sat straight up, rigid as a board, and gasped, "Oh crap, Pippin!" Wearing only my white night-dress, I leapt out of my bed and hurried down the darkened corridor, skidding to a stop inside the room where my companions slept, but everyone was awake now.

The small curly-haired hobbit lay catatonic on the cold stone floor while Gandalf hovered over him, mumbling words of an unknown tongue. The men, including Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli stood dumbfounded near their beds to give the Wizard some room to work. The other Dunedain Rangers were there too. With a curt nod, Aragorn acknowledged my presence. He seemed a little confused that I hadn't bothered to put on a robe. I looked down and flushed a deep purple, crossing my arms over my chest to preserve at least a little of my dignity.

"What did you tell him of Frodo and the Ring?" Gandalf whispered urgently to Pippin.

Pippin, sweating and terrified, did not answer for a few moments. Gandalf leaned closer to his face. Any words exchanged between them were so quiet that I couldn't hear them. The wizard set his broad hand on Pippin's head and commanded, "Everyone leave this room. I must speak alone with the young hobbit." One by one, the men filed out of the room, exchanging worried glances and whispering to each other. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli left with the Rangers. I stood aside to let them pass and then turned to leave behind Aragorn, but Gandalf called me back. "You stay, Rebecca."

I clasped my hands behind my back and waited for further instruction. He beckoned me over to him as Pippin gingerly scooted himself upright and wrapped his arms around his shins. I sat down next to the hobbit and folded my hands in my lap with a slight slump in my shoulders. Gandalf crossed his legs and leaned on his elbows, apparently deep in thought. I started when he spoke again, his voice low, yet as strained as his haggard face. "Terrible and fortuitous events have occurred this night, but I do have a plan, and both of you shall have a part in it. I will not reveal it to you in its entirety, but you must trust me as I trust you to complete the tasks I give to you. Do you understand?"

I nodded in calm resignation. "I will not fail you, Gandalf."

"Neither shall I," Pippin squeaked.

Even though the Wizard did not smile, his stormy eyes caught a mischievous glow.

Deviation from the story was even more likely now that I have forcefully inserted myself into one of the major plot points. My only hope was that I could set things right before the end. I shivered unexpectedly and steeled myself for Gandalf's instructions.

* * *

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes," Gandalf said to Théoden, his wrinkled face set hard and serious. "He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring." Almost visibly, the tension lifted from the shoulders of everyone present, including myself. "And neither did Rebecca, for she looked into the palantír as well." Gandalf turned to a confused Aragorn. The Ranger stroked his beard with a frown between his eyebrows. "As you had thought, Aragorn, she knows more than she had first let on, but I believe it was only for our protection and not as a hindrance. She is no danger to us, if not an asset to our cause."

Aragorn nodded in understanding, but from my vantage point next to Merry and Pippin near the large hearth, he still seemed a bit skeptical. I fought the urge to twiddle my thumbs. Instead, I put on a façade of confidence, straightening by back and clasping my hands together in the lap of my gray dress.

Gandalf spared a glance for me and the hobbits before he continued. "We have been strangely fortunate. Twice we have looked into the mind of the Enemy, and we have managed to catch a glimpse of his plans. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

Théoden shifted his gaze ever so slightly in my direction. I met his eyes for a moment and then looked down at the beaten stone floor, but I had seen the gears spinning in his mind. It was going to take him a while to process all of this information.

"Because of our young friends' escapades last night, Sauron is at best confused," Gandalf continued. "If he sends for those whom he believes are Saruman's captives—and thus could possibly possess his Ring—he will find that Saruman is a captive himself, and that the Ring has once again passed beyond his sight, far-reaching though it may be. His fears may turn once again to the World of Men—for he also knows that the Heir of Elendil has come forth, perhaps to give Men the strength enough to challenge him, but he will not risk the peoples of Middle-earth uniting under one banner. We must act while he is indecisive."

A moment of silence followed as the men exchanged knowing glances.

"If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war," Gandalf firmly declared.

Théoden regarded him for a moment, almost smugly. "Tell me," he said. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?"

From the look on Gandalf's face, I feared the wizard would smack Théoden across the cheek for such an answer.

"I will go," Aragorn said.

"No," Gandalf replied.

"They must be warned!"

"They will be," Gandalf softened his face and took a few steps toward Aragorn, speaking to him in a low voice—too softly for me to hear, but I knew what he had said. "Understand this," he said to the rest of us. "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith," he looked directly at Pippin and me. "And I won't be going alone."

I gulped and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Merry squeeze Pippin's shoulder.

"Peregrin Took will come with me, but Rebecca will remain here. She could be of more use to us than we may yet realize." There was a twinkle in his eye as he swooped past me, gently taking Pippin by the shoulder and pulling him along toward the stables. The wizard's white robes billowed behind him. Merry scampered after them.

I was left alone with the men and their inquisitive stares.

"So Gandalf confirms it," Théoden said to me. "You are a soothsayer after all."

"Of a sort," I replied, once again fighting the urge to twiddle my thumbs. I clenched my fingers together as hard as I could.

One of the twins, silent during Gandalf's lecture, now stepped forward beside Aragorn and took his turn to speak. "Mithrandir was blind to Saruman's treachery. Who is to say he has not been fooled here as well?"

"But Saruman and Gandalf are of the same race," Aragorn countered. "Only a wizard can fool a wizard."

"True," the other twin replied. "Unless she is a wizard too."

_Okay, this is getting silly._ I stood to give my retort, but Gimli beat me to it. "We found her in Fangorn, both utterly lost and completely naked. A wizard would not stoop so low."

I frowned, unsure whether or not I should take Gimli's words as a back-handed compliment. Both Elladan and Elrohir quirked a slender eyebrow and stared strangely at me, and I was distinctly reminded of Elrond. One of him was plenty, but two more was just down-right intimidating.

The double doors groaned loudly behind me. I turned 'round in time to see Ælred slip into the hall, dust off his brown trousers, and then straighten when all eyes fell upon him. A burning sensation prickled my cheeks. In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten about Ælred. "Forgive me, my lords," he said hastily and strode forward with growing dignity. "I have come to call on the Lady Rebecca, if you can spare her for a while."

Théoden's eyebrows were drawn up in surprise by this new development. "First you are a soothsayer, and now you are being courted by my blacksmith. This has been an odd day to say the least." After a moment's hesitation, he waved me away. "Go on," he said lightly. "We have no more need of you."

I bowed a hasty curtsy and looped my arm around Ælred's as he led me away from the men. "Come," he said quietly. "My mother has prepared a meal for us." I gently squeezed his arm and smiled, grateful for the chance to forget about my future responsibilities for a while. I could sort everything out later.

* * *

A/N: (5/21/08) I went back and corrected a little inconsistency in Gandalf's dialogue during the scene with the palantir. Hopefully that will clear up a little of the confusion.


	13. Who Will Go?

A/N: I've been ruminating over the next stretch of events for the past few days, and I tell you what, I am excited about what's gonna happen next. This chapter gets a little mushy though…

Disclaimer: Same as previous chapters.

* * *

The sun had not yet reached its noon height as Ælred and I descended the stone steps in front of Meduseld and began our short trek down the main road. Save for a few women sitting on their porches, the town was practically deserted; the party last night had been quite an eventful one. The men were probably still abed.

As we neared the stables, the strong thundering of hooves bellowed out of the doors, followed by two riders upon a brilliant white stallion. It was Gandalf, with Pippin nestled securely in front of him on the horse's back. The wizard nodded to me as he galloped past, not watching as I weakly waved my goodbye.

"Where does he go?" Ælred asked quietly.

"Minas Tirith," I replied with a rueful smile. I felt a little sorry for Pippin, even more so since we both had made the mistake of looking into the seeing stone, but I also knew that he would have a chance to prove his valor before the end. He was a Took, after all.

"Is it true?" Ælred asked again.

"Is what true?"

"The King called you a soothsayer. You see the future?" From the earnestness in his tone, he seemed genuinely curious.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," I replied. An odd realization struck me. "The King also said that you were courting me. Is that true?"

The blacksmith snorted a laugh at that, and I inwardly cringed. Well, nobody's perfect.

"In a manner of speaking," he said and looked down at me through his bright blue eyes. A thrilling shiver surged down the length of my spine and into my extremities. Why did he have to be so ungodly handsome? "Would it please you if I said as much?"

I nodded without looking away from his eyes—that also meant I was not watching my feet as I tripped over the very same stone that had caught my foot last night. I stumbled and hastily grasped Ælred for support. Clearing my throat, I smoothed the green fabric on his shoulders as a bright red blush quickly surfaced on my cheeks. "Sorry," I said weakly. "I just can't seem to keep my feet around you." _Oh boy,_ I groaned inwardly. _Did I just say that out loud?_

"Fret not," he said and looped my arm around his again. "You just need better shoes. I can take you to the cobbler today if you wish."

I stared at my brown boots as they crunched the prickly grass underneath their soles. They were getting slightly uncomfortable, seeing as I've worn them ever since I came to Edoras. Even though I had taken a bath yesterday, my feet probably stank to high heaven. "I just might take you up on that," I replied with a nod.

At length, we came upon a small cottage just off the main road, with curling plumes of smoke reaching up from the cylindrical chimney. "This is where I live with my mother and son," Ælred said, smiling. "And that is where I take up the hammer and anvil." He pointed to the active smithy a little more way down the road.

"Do you work there by yourself?" I asked as we approached the small porch in front of the wooden cottage.

"Nay," he replied. "There is one other man, Halmir, who sees to the smithy when I am not there."

"What do you enjoy making the most?" I asked.

"I am rather proficient at horse-shoes," he answered and casually leaned his head to one side. "But my heart lies in making swords. I have made very few since I became a blacksmith, for they require much time and nurturing, but I take pride in those blades almost as much as I do my own son."

As if on cue, the flaxen-haired toddler bounded through the door, over the porch, and sprang into his father's arms. "Ah yes," I mused. "Ældenbrand is quite charming, to say the least."

"He takes after his mother," Ælred replied, a slight aloofness in his tone, and ruffled his son's mess of curls. "She used to tell me that I have as much charm as a Gondorian ceremonial guardsman, and those men have no personality." He smiled to himself under his fuzzy beard, as if pondering on a fond memory.

I decided to let him ruminate over that memory as we passed over the porch and into the cottage. The heavy scent of bacon climbed into my nose. I may not like bacon, but it sure did smell good. Celwyn greeted me warmly as I stepped inside. "How splendid that you have joined us, Lady Rebecca," she said with a worn and wrinkled smile. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the exertion of cooking, but her eyes were bright and sharp as ever.

What followed was probably one of the most satisfying meals of my young adult life, not just for the food, but for the company. I felt as though they had already accepted me into their small family. The four of us sat around a small circular table in the undivided dining section of the cottage. On the opposite end was a stone hearth flanked by two low-sitting beds and between them a home-made rug bearing the Rohirric horse device. We feasted on fat strips of bacon, fresh fried eggs, hot biscuits with a cinnamon and honey glaze, and various fruit and vegetable salads. I soon lost count of how many biscuits I had consumed, but I didn't care. Ældenbrand sat on my right in his special high chair, his face covered in the shiny honey glaze. I just wanted to melt inside whenever he looked at me with that dimpled smile.

_I could get used to this_, I thought as I felt my heartstrings twinge.

* * *

By that evening, I found myself dining in the mead hall with Éowyn after everyone else had retired. All that partying must have really taken a toll on her, for her freckled face showed signs of weariness. She gently rubbed her tired eyes and tried to give me a reassuring smile, but her cheeks did not have the strength to support it.

"These are dreadful days in which we live," she mused with a sigh. "It seems that I have had my uncle for such a short time before he must leave again."

"So he is planning to ride to Gondor if the beacons are lit?" I asked and leaned my elbows on the knotted wooden table.

"I do not know," Éowyn answered ruefully. "I am not privy to his counsels."

"He can't just ignore them, can he?" I said, slightly disappointed.

"A king's first obligation is to his people," a low voice from the darkness answered. I jumped in surprise when King Théoden himself entered the hall via the door by his throne, his countenance grim. He was wearing a long gray night robe over a loose shirt and a pair of brown breeches. Rohirric devices and designs were embroidered into the hems of his robe. Éowyn made to stand, but Théoden gestured for her to remain seated. "I must consider the interests of my own people before anything else. Surely it is the same in your home."

_This is going to be more difficult than I thought, _I mused with pursed lips. "I am not disputing that, milord," I answered. I fought to keep my tone and demeanor respectful toward the king. "But what of your alliance? Wasn't that why the beacons were built?"

Théoden stepped closer and clasped his arms behind his back. His voice darkened, but his old eyes were sharp with age and experience. "Gondor did not ride to us in our hour of need, and yet we prevailed. Why should we be obligated to ride to them? _My_ people must be protected. Let the Steward protect his own people."

"The Steward is mad with grief!" I cried and stood angrily. _This was _not _how it happened in the movie! _This was merely another proof that my presence had changed things. If I didn't convince Théoden to ride to Minas Tirith as Gandalf had instructed me, everything could be lost. "And your own pride could be the death of us all!"

"Rebecca!" Éowyn whispered reproachfully and furrowed her slender eyebrows.

"Keep a watch on your tongue, young lady," the king replied coolly. "Be mindful of whose presence and favor you are in." In one giant step, he stood directly in front of me and looked down at my flushing face. I felt about an inch tall. "I admire your tenacity," he said quietly. "But this is something that _I _must decide—not Gandalf and not you, soothsayer or no."

I bowed my head in reverence. "Forgive me for being so brash, milord," I replied meekly. "You are the king." He turned to leaved. "Milord," I said quietly, causing him to look back over his shoulder. "If you do not ride to Gondor, who will?"

Sighing, he turned and walked away without a word.

A/N: I'm back! Told you I wouldn't abandon this thing. It's coming along slowly but surely. Please stay tuned and leave some feedback.


	14. The Pillar of Flame

A/N: Finally! The next chapter. My sincerest apologies for making you wait so long, and my thanks to those who left reviews in the interim period. I checked the stats for this story, and oddly enough, it has a little over 6,000 hits and 62 reviews, whilst my Stargate Atlantis fanfiction has almost 12,000 hits and 58ish reviews. It seems this story is my most popular one, and that's good to hear. Thanks again, guys. Your support really keeps me going with this.

HV

* * *

When four days had passed and still came no word, I began to worry. An unbreakable knot formed in the pit of my stomach. In my apprehension, I had bitten my dirty fingernails down to bloody nubs. My eyes constantly watched the beacon on the mountains, but it still remained unlit.

"Rebecca," Ælred said as he nudged my elbow. "You look troubled."

I tore my eyes away from the mountains and smiled half-heartedly. "No, I'm fine, really." I smoothed the lap of my new green dress and tried to find a more casual and comfortable sitting position on our blanket. We had been enjoying a lovely picnic under a willow by the banks of the Snowbourne for the past hour and a half. I absolutely loved willow trees. I was attracted to their fantastical qualities such as the aged bark and the long tendril branches. Sometimes I fancied that every willow tree had a personality like Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas.

To be truthful, I had been surprised when Ælred had asked to see me again after quite an embarrassing disaster at his mother's only three days ago. The details were lost to me in the heat of the moment, but I do recall almost setting the little cottage on fire when I had inadvertently spilled some burning cinders from the fireplace onto the rug. The embroidered horse on the rug no longer had a backside after that, but at least the house was saved from utter destruction—many thanks to Ælred for his quick-thinking.

Since then, I noticed that Ælred would eye me strangely, more so than usual, and would seek out occasions to be near me (so I suspected—or hoped, rather). At first, I thought nothing of it because I already knew that I resembled Branwyn, but when he had invited me on a private picnic outside of Edoras and bid me to bring along a chaperone, I teetered on the verge of panic, and that added to the anxiety I felt when no word came from Gandalf from Minas Tirith.

So there I was, sitting on a gray wool blanket under a willow tree with one of the most handsome and manly men I have ever met—whom I suspected (or half-hoped) was falling in love with me. Naturally, my stomach was churning in knots, and my palms were sweating. I was suddenly aware of a burning sensation in my cheeks. I casually touched my cheek and fought back the urge to recoil from its blistering heat. I was in quite a state!

"Rebecca," Ælred said tenderly as he scooted closer to me, his long blonde hair falling charmingly over his broad shoulders. It was then that I noticed him slip a plain silver band from his left forefinger. I gulped. "I have greatly enjoyed our time together since your arrival, and forgive me if I am too forward in saying that you are a remarkable woman…"

I hazarded a glance over at Gimli, who had agreed to be my chaperone, but the stout Dwarf was snoozing loudly against the knotted trunk of the willow. I inwardly glowered at him as he slept in a semi-drunken stupor. The Rohirrim continued his speech, oblivious to my actions and my apparent shortness of breath.

"Long have I endured the pangs of loneliness since the death of my wife, and too long has my son gone without the presence of a mother that he can call his own," he gently grabbed my hand, wrapping his strong blacksmith fingers around my trembling ones, and I started to hyperventilate.

_Oh, my God!_ My mind cried out. _He's going to ask me to marry him! I don't know if I can handle this…_

"It would give me great honor if you would—"

Gimli snorted something Dwarvish in his sleep. Ælred turned to him and pursed his lips together indignantly. I took advantage of his momentary distraction and looked over my shoulder at the mountains; I did a double-take. There it was: a single pillar of flame atop one of the peaks. Rohan was finally called to battle! Now is the time to complete the task Gandalf required of me.

"The beacons are lit!" I cried and stood swiftly to my feet, letting go of Ælred's hand in the process. "I must go to the King!"

Flabbergasted, Ælred awkwardly got up and frowned at the mountains. "Indeed they are," he commented ruefully. Before he had the chance to stop me, I clambered onto one of our horses, straddled my legs over the saddle despite my dress, and spurred the beast into one terrific gallop, effectively leaving my love interest gawking after me as I rode away toward Edoras.

Like a racehorse wearing blinders, I focused intently on my task, neither looking to the right nor to the left as I goaded the poor beast as fast as it could go. I had no idea why we had to go so fast, but I had this feeling of utter urgency in the pit of my stomach.

It could have been that I wanted to get as far away from Ælred as possible.

As I neared the Hall, I slowed my fatigued steed and prepared to dismount. In my urgency, however, I got my left foot caught in the stirrup as I swung my other leg backward over the horse's rump. I set my foot onto the ground, only to lose my balance because of my entangled foot, and fell hard on my backside. "Ugh," I groaned in frustration. "This is not my day." I lay there for a moment in the dirt, all manner of depressing thoughts floating around in my brain. _Look at yourself, _my cynical side scolded. _You've made an awful mess of things, you dolt. First, you go all doe-eyed over Aragorn, then you jeopardize the entire quest by looking into that darned palantír, and then you go and embarrass Ælred while he's trying to propose! Jeez…what am I going to do with you?_

A small part of me wanted to die on the inside.

Aragorn suddenly appeared out of nowhere, a pipe in his hand and concerned look on his face. I was so glad that he didn't find humor in my predicament, for I certainly didn't either. "Allow me to assist you," he said in a very fatherly fashion as he stooped and slipped my booted foot from the stirrup. I grasped his outstretched forearm and let him pull me up from the dirt.

"Thank you for your help, my friend," I said to Aragorn, our wrists still clasped together.

The pepper-haired Ranger nodded. "Whenever you have need of it," he replied and then dropped my wrist. "But we now have a more pressing issue to contend with."

I picked up my skirts and followed him as he bounded up the wide stairs toward the Hall. He shoved past the large wooden door and took quick and long strides through the Hall toward King Théoden and his advisors. I struggled on my short legs to keep his pace.

"My Lord Aragorn," Théoden greeted as we quickly drew closer.

"The beacons of Minas Tirith are lit," Aragorn answered. "Gondor calls for aid."

Théoden eyed him curiously and then looked at me. A smothering silence fell upon the room. I drew myself to my full height, trying to look as reassuring as possible. I saw the resolve quickly form in the king's eyes; he as remembering our previous conversation, as I had hoped.

"And Rohan will answer."

* * *

In stark contrast to the hassle that was the exodus to Helm's Deep, the Muster of the Rohirrim ran like smooth clockwork. The only preparations Éowyn and I had to oversee were our own. The soldiers were perfectly capable of gathering their things and meeting at Dunharrow in an orderly fashion. Even the women and children understood the gravity of the situation, if only in general. The very elderly and the very young sat stone-faced in front of their homes as their sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands prepared for war. I weaved my way through dozens of mounted riders, making toward Celwyn's cottage. I had not far to go, for I found myself on her porch after what seemed only a few moments. I knocked on her door, and she greeted me with a smile, gesturing for me to come inside.

"What brings you my way, Lady Rebecca?" she asked kindly and offered me a seat at the round dining table.

"I am going with Éowyn and the Riders to Dunharrow," I answered. "I have come to bid you farewell."

"I do thank you," she said and took my hand in her wrinkled one. Her clear blue eyes focused intently upon me as my own glanced at the scorched rug in front of the fireplace. "What vexes you so? Do not fret about the rug. It is still a rug, whether the horse has its rump or not."

"I'm all right," I replied with a nostalgic smile. "Where is Ældenbrand? I should like to say goodbye to him too."

The old woman inclined her head toward a bundle of grey blankets on a cot next to the fireplace. "He is napping, but it is about time for him to get up."

Careful to lighten my footfalls, I tiptoed over to the sleeping toddler and sat down on my heels. As I looked at his round pink face, calm and serene, my breath caught in my throat, and I was overwhelmed by a deluge of emotions that seemed strangely—maternal. I gently stroked his blond curls, and he roused from slumber at my touch. "It's time to get up, my little man," I whispered. With a curt shake of his head, the little blond boy grabbed my hand, awkwardly nestled it under his cheek, and closed his eyes to feign sleep. Faint dimples appeared on his cheeks as he tried to keep from smiling. After a few silent moments, Ældenbrand lifted an eyelid ever so slightly to make sure I was still there. He opened both his eyes, and with a stifled giggle, turned over on his back and started playing with the fingers of my hand that he had captured.

"I am going away for a little while, little master," I said to him. He looked at me with rumpled peach-fuzz eyebrows. "But I'll be back soon," I assured him.

The furrow deepened between his eyebrows as he sat up and wrapped his stubby arms around my neck. "Be careful, Mama," he said and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek. Unbidden and unwanted, a single tear slid down my face and fell from my chin; I did not wipe it away. _He thinks I'm his mother_, I remembered with an aching heart. _If I married Ælred…then I would be._

I hugged the toddler close to my bosom and kissed his face. "I'll be careful, Ældenbrand," I whispered. "Don't fret." Celwyn's gaze was heavy upon me as I set the boy on the floor, gathered myself up, and hastily departed from the cottage.

With a heavy heart, I stepped onto the gravel path leading to the main road, the small stones crunching beneath my boots. I clutched fistfuls of my skirt so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I forced myself not to look back at the quaint cottage. _Did I really have to go?_ Ælred's forge came into view to my right down another road, the bellows belching thick charcoal gray smoke. The metallic ringing of hammer upon anvil floated on the air. I continued forward and ignored the stabbing pain in my heart. Every step away from Celwyn and Ældenbrand and Ælred seemed heavy enough to shatter my bones; it was absolute agony, so much that I hardly noticed when Éowyn found me on the main road, two travel-ready horses flanking her.

"Are you well, my friend?" she asked quietly and laid a long-fingered hand on my shoulder. "It is time to leave."

I put on my best façade and smiled, replying, "Let's get going then. All is well."


	15. The Grinding Wheel

There were already many soldiers encamped in the field in front of the mountain at Dunharrow when Éowyn and I arrived. Following Éowyn's lead, I spurred my horse forward through the camp of small white soldier-tents. The men nodded respectfully to the shield-maiden as we passed, but I noticed a few of them whisper to each other when they thought I could not see. "_'tis the Soothsayer," _I heard one of them say.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, I craned my neck upward and still could not see the mountain's immense height in its entirety. Its elusive summit seemed to scrape the very sky. A smothering sense of vertigo settled in my stomach as we climbed the narrow zigzagged path up the side of the mountain. I fought the urge to look down and breathed deeply through my nose.

Our ascent seemed to go on forever before we reached even ground and my equilibrium settled. Several dome-topped white tents stood scattered about the grassy pavilion, and soldiers, both cavalrymen and captains alike, busied themselves with assembling other tents and portable facilities.

One of them, a young strawberry blond man whom I had seen in passing at Helm's Deep, greeted Éowyn and me as we dismounted. He kept his gaze focused upon Éowyn, for which I was grateful because I was having a dreadful time sliding gracefully from my horse's saddle, but he seemed to take great pains not to look at me, as if I was outside his field of vision. My ego was a little bruised for it.

He led us through the small campsite to two smaller tents nestled in a little corner adjoining the mountain and the pavilion. A sparse cluster of trees lined this nook, hiding some of the dark rock face from view. The soldier, whose name was Leofric, spoke to us in a language I didn't know, but it sounded oddly like Old English, from what my limited experience could gather. It must have been the native Rohirric tongue.

Éowyn replied in the same tongue and passed the reins of her horse to him. "I asked him to tend to our horses," she interpreted for me.

Leofric nodded respectfully and took the reins she offered. His eyes made only the briefest contact with mine, but I could feel a slight tremble in his hands as I passed my reins to him. _He's afraid of me, _I realized, puzzled.

Leofric hastily excused himself with the horses, leaving Éowyn and me standing quietly in front of our tents. We wandered silently through the camp to the edge of the pavilion overlooking the soldiers' camp below. We were so high that the rows of white tents looked to be little more than a garden of white flowers, and the soldiers were practically ants. The vertigo returned to my stomach, but lessened when I placed myself at a safe distance from the ledge.

"How many have come?" I asked of Éowyn.

"My uncle the King had hoped for ten thousand spears at least," she answered; her voice was thin and strained with apprehension. "And we would have such if we had more time to marshal our forces. But as I see it, we must ride with much less and leave the rest to guard our strongholds."

_Only six thousand, _I remembered_. If only they knew…_

"I think the men are afraid of me, Éowyn," I remarked sullenly. "Or at the very least they don't like me."

"I do not know what is in their hearts," she said. "But your reputation as a soothsayer has spread quickly since the battle for the Hornburg. It is possible that they hold you in the same regard as they do Gandalf."

"Then how is it that you are not afraid of me?"

A small smile played on her pale lips. "Soothsayer or not, you are my friend and have been a great help in these dark days."

"Well, I try," I quipped half-heartedly.

"Come," Éowyn said as she gently pulled me away from the ledge. "Let us prepare for my uncle's arrival. We shall make the lords a nice pot of hot stew."

I grimaced. _This will be interesting, no doubt._

* * *

Théoden and his company came late in the afternoon, just as Éowyn and I finished making the last batch of soup. Once they had settled, Éowyn took up a pot of stew and a ladle and set herself to feeding the men around the pavilion. I followed in similar fashion, but with a wineskin and as many goblets as I could carry in one hand. We eventually found ourselves at Théoden's tent, where Aragorn, the Elven twins, Halbarad, Legolas, and Gimli sat on make-shift benches around a steadily-growing fire. "Good evening, my lords," Eowyn said cheerfully. "Rebecca and I have prepared a little supper for you."

Aragorn barely concealed a scowl as Éowyn happily slopped the stew into a small wooden bowl without waiting for him to respond. Gimli, who had taken a place beside Aragorn, cleared his throat and scooted away a little. Naturally, he graciously declined when Éowyn offered him soup, as did Legolas. She did not look the least bit discouraged. When I was sure Éowyn wouldn't hear me, I bent my head toward Aragorn and whispered, "Don't worry, milord. I tasted it to make sure it was edible." He tried to smile, but his lips only stretched into a thin line instead of curling upward as I poured him a cup of wine from my wineskin.

"Is this the strong stuff?" Gimli asked me when I offered him some of my wine. When I did not answer right away, he took the wineskin from me and sniffed the aroma wafting from the top. He flared his large nostrils under his bushy beard, but poured some in a goblet anyway. "It'll have to do," he said gruffly and handed the wineskin to Legolas, who poured a little for himself before giving the wineskin back to me. He nodded graciously and thanked me.

Slightly offended that I had disappointed Gimli by no fault of my own, I hesitantly moved on to one of the Elf twins (I couldn't tell which one he was) and asked him if he would like some wine with his stew.

"My thanks to you, Rebecca," he replied and sipped from his goblet.

Eager to avoid an awkward silence as I went about the group, I asked, "Your journey fared well, my lords?"

"Indeed it did," Halbarad replied, his unshaven face trying to maintain some semblance of pleasantness. "As well as it could under the circumstances."

"It is the journey ahead that concerns us," said one of the twins—the one I had served first.

"Of course," I answered politely.

"Do you have any words of wisdom to impart to us concerning our road, Soothsayer?" the other twin asked—in quite the cheeky manner, if I may add.

"I do not take kindly to being mocked, my lord," I answered as gently as I could, and straightened to my full height to stare him down. I hardly could have been intimidating; the elf was so tall that our eyes were almost level with each other—while he was sitting down. His gray eyes looked directly into mine for a few moments, gazing at me so intently that for an instant I felt a chill wind tickle my skin as if I were naked. My first panicked inclination was to cover myself with my hands, but when I looked away from the Elf's gaze, the chill left me and I was once again clothed. I cleared my throat and continued, pretending to be unfazed by the internal humiliation. I then made the mistake of answering, "Any counsel I impart will be to Aragorn, seeing as it is his task to—"

"So you know of it, then? The feat that only Aragorn can accomplish?" he quipped. He spoke of the Paths of the Dead, but that was not what stirred my ire. The Elf was baiting me!

"Elladan, that is enough," his brother whispered harshly—he must be Elrohir. _He is much more handsome than his brother,_ I thought smugly.

"If you will excuse me, my lords," I said in a slightly terse manner and curtsied. "I take my leave."

They each bent their heads (somewhat) respectfully toward me as I turned on my heel and left. Halbarad called after me, "Thank you for the wine!"

* * *

A long while into the evening, after my sore pride had mended itself and my temper had cooled, I emerged from my tent and sat as close as I dared in front of the fire. The heat was welcoming in the face of the mild night air; the air was cold enough that I could see my breath at times. I picked up a dry brown leaf and tossed it into the tongues of flame, watching intently as it blackened and curled upon itself before disintegrating entirely.

Heavy footsteps on the dry leaves drew my attention away from the fire. It was Éomer, dressed in a heavy green tunic and brown breeches. His blonde hair was as messy and tangled as ever. "May I sit?" he asked politely; he sat a respectable distance from me on the make-shift bench after I nodded my assent.

"When do you ride?" I asked, trying to avoid another awkward silence.

"Dawn," he replied shortly. _A man of few words, _I mused.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "You weren't planning on using the main road, were you?"

"That way is not safe," he replied, resting his forearms on his knees. "We would be fools to bring ourselves out in the open before we are ready for battle." He rubbed his hands together to warm them. I glanced at the dirt clogged underneath his fingernails and pursed my lips together to keep from grimacing.

"Of course," I said. "I'm sure the Pukel-men will be more than happy to show you a safer route through the mountains." The snapping crackle of the fire was the only sound between us for a few lingering moments. "I think I'll go see what Éowyn is up to," I mumbled and clumsily stood to my feet. As I walked, I accidentally stepped on the hem of my gray dress and pitched forward, but caught myself before falling into Éowyn's tent. I straightened myself and calmly pulled back the flap, ignoring Éomer's poorly-concealed sniggers.

"Ah, Rebecca," Éowyn greeted me as I entered her tent. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come out of your fit of pique. I was just helping Merry prepare for battle—at Lord Aragorn's request." She presented the little curly-haired hobbit to me, who barely reached the middle of my thigh, even with his boots and cone-shaped helmet. "See?" said Éowyn, the apples of her cheeks pink with pride. "A true esquire of Rohan."

"Indeed," I replied, truly glad for the light-hearted moment. "May the enemy cower before your blade." A slight shiver rattled the base of my spine, but I shrugged it off. _I have to be careful, or else this whole soothsayer business will start to mess with my head…if it hasn't already_.

"I'm ready!" Merry exclaimed, brandishing his short sword with a flourish, almost catching Éowyn and me with the tip of the blade.

I instinctively took a step back and threw up my hands in front of me in a defensive position. "I can see that, Master Hobbit," I said with a light smile. "You are ready for anything."

"Sorry," he said, looking closer at the blade. "It isn't all that dangerous. It isn't even sharp."

"Well, that just won't do," Éowyn replied, grabbing the dull edge of the sword. "You won't kill many orcs with a blunt blade."

"Though I would be quite impressed if you did," I added with a smirk.

Éowyn laughed lightly. "All right, off to the smithy with you, Merry. Go on!" She nudged Merry out of her tent.

Upon Éowyn's request, I accompanied Merry to the smithy. It was located on the other side of the pavilion, in its own corner where a few other soldiers had gathered to have their blades sharpened. The soldiers sat around a large fire and talked quietly amongst themselves as the blacksmith honed their swords with a grinding wheel. When Merry and I sat down in front of the fire, however, the chatter suddenly ceased, creating a vacuum of silence. Strangely enough, it did not bother me much.

Merry leaned closer to me and whispered, "What are they all staring at?"

"Don't worry about it, Merry," I replied. "They're a little intimidated by me, that's all."

"Well, they shouldn't be," the Halfling assured me. "You're a very nice person."

"Thank you," I murmured with a half-smile.

The blacksmith called for the next sword to be sharpened, but none of the men around the fire stirred a hair. I waited a few moments, and then bade Merry to give his sword to the smith. The hobbit looked around, and seeing that none of the other men would stop him, he complied. I stared fixedly into the fire, not really paying attention to Merry's discourse with the smith.

"This is a good blade, of excellent make. Where did you get it?" he asked of the hobbit. His voice rose in volume to carry over the piercing sound of metal on stone.

"I found it in a—cave," Merry answered, rocking awkwardly back and forth on his heels.

"I believe you will fell many enemies with it, my friend," the blacksmith said.

"I do hope so," said Merry.

"You must be very special to have the Soothsayer as your escort," the blacksmith said, after a silent moment.

I stole a quick glance over my shoulder at the pair and failed to suppress a stomach-flutter. I turned around before the blacksmith could catch my gaze; it was Ælred. Éowyn must have known he would be here, else she might not have sent me with Merry. I never would have considered her for the Matchmaker role. Or perhaps she didn't know and this was just a coincidence. Right. Since when has there _ever_ been a coincidence in Middle-earth?

"I'm not all that special," Merry replied earnestly. "But I am flattered that you think so."

"Here you are, Master Holbytla," said the blacksmith. "A sword fit for any esquire of Rohan."

"My thanks to you, sir," Merry said before returning to me.

"Are we ready to go?" I asked. Merry nodded and admired his short blade, oblivious to my sudden impatience. I stood up to follow him back to Éowyn's tent, but Ælred called me back.

"Rebecca, please tarry a moment that I may speak with you," he said.

"What about these men?" I asked. I looked around at the ever-silent Rohirrim soldiers seated around the campfire. "They wish to have their swords sharpened too."

"Ælred has worked tirelessly since mid-afternoon to sharpen swords, mend horseshoes, and patch armor," one of them said. "We can wait so he can fast from his work a little while."

The soldier was an older man, with thinning silver hair and a long wrinkled scar along his jawbone. A large stone sunk to the pit of my stomach when I laid eyes on him; this could very well be his last battle—the last battle for any of them, even Ælred. I placed my hands on my knees and pushed myself to stand. Ælred left the grinding wheel and gestured with his hand for me to follow him. Much too soon, the light of the campfire waned as we distanced ourselves from it. The vapors of my breath hung suspended in the air whenever I exhaled.

We finally stopped next to a solitary tree near the edge of the pavilion. There was no vertigo this time. Dots of firelight danced all over the campground below us, like a swarm of fireflies in a field just after the sun goes down. With all the small light sources around us, I could just barely make out Ælred's features through the thin darkness. His face was still unshaven, but that did not mask the long rounded nose or the strong chin of his profile. His mane of tangled blonde hair hung limply over his shoulder blades, a few ringlets curling next to his eyebrows.

"What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" I asked and gently gnawed on the inside of my lower lip.

"That day—by the willows," he began. "Did you know that I was going to ask you to be my wife?"

A thick lump lodged itself in my throat. "Yes," I replied weakly.

The fabric of Ælred's tunic rubbed against itself as his shoulders drooped. "And yet you still rode away." He voice was quiet, even strained.

"Yes," was all I could manage to say, barely above a hoarse whisper. My nose was getting cold; that meant tears would soon follow. I blinked several times to hold them back, but one escaped and rolled down my cheek; I wiped it away before Ælred could see it.

"I see."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

Ælred did not answer for a few long moments.

"Nay," he said. "It is I who should apologize. I fear I may have put you in an unmanageable position." He craned his neck upward toward the stars and sighed. "Nevertheless, I may yet ask it of you—when this war is over."

I looked down at the soldiers' campground and fiddled with my fingers in my lap. My fingernails were jagged from the week's wear and tear. I began to pick absent-mindedly at a thumbnail. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," I said. I tried to keep all emotion out of my voice, to make myself as nonthreatening as possible. "You don't know me—not really."

"I think you underestimate my powers of observation," he replied. "I have seen how you treat my mother, my son, Lady Éowyn, and Lord Aragorn and his companions. I have seen the light in my son's eyes when you cradle him. You may not be his mother, but you love him and he loves you as if—" he trailed off for a moment. "As if you were Branwyn."

"I'm not Branwyn." I hazarded a glance sideways at Ælred to see his expression. He dipped his chin close to his chest and closed his eyes.

"I know," he said simply. "When I first saw you I thought Branwyn had returned to me, but when you did not recognize me, I realized that she was still gone. She may never return." He turned to me. "But that does not mean Ældenbrand has to grow up without a mother."

"You could have picked any woman in Rohan," I countered. "Why me? I'm not skilled with a sword, or a bow, or even with a needle. I haven't exactly had much experience with being a wife—or a mother." My body stiffened against a cool breeze; I wrapped my arms around my chest to warm myself. I fancied I saw Ælred's cheeks swell with a smile.

"Those skills can be learned later," he said. "It is your character that interests me."

Tingling warmth spread across my face and down my neck; I couldn't help but smile, but it left as soon as it came. "Still," I said with a heavy sigh. "I have my—reservations."

"I understand," Ælred replied. "May we speak of this more when the soldiers return from battle?"

"Wait," I said. "When the soldiers return? Aren't you going too?"

"Nay. I am no longer a soldier, so Lord Éomer asked me to stay behind. Halmir will go with them, and I will remain at the smithy."

"Oh, well, okay." I inwardly kicked myself for the lame reply before continuing. "When the war is all over, we can talk about this again."

"Agreed," Ælred said and stood, gently helping me to my feet alongside him. The taut muscles of his forearm flexed underneath my grip, sending tingles through my fingers. I was suddenly very warm underneath my gray gown. "May I accompany you to your tent?" he asked.

I gnawed on the inside of my lip. "No, but thank you," I answered and displayed a meager smile to reassure him. "I know the way back."

"Goodnight, then." He withdrew his arm with a stiff but respectful bow, turned, and left me, disappearing into the darkness.

The walk back to my tent seemed to take an eternity, every step closer like a fathom farther away. By the time I ducked under the door flap, my exhausted body was ready for sleep, but my mind was not. It was as if a thousand voices—my voice—were screaming inside my head, no two voices saying the same thing.

I lay on my cot and tucked the heavy blanket around my shoulders. The tears I had been restraining earlier broke through the dam and flowed freely over my cheeks and onto my pillow. Never before had I been so tortured for a man. This was not like my crushes in high school. Me having unrequited feelings for someone was hard enough. Not _knowing_ how I felt toward someone who may actually be in love with me—well, it was almost too much to bear.

* * *

A/N: An update! Finally! I've really been in a dry spell, guys, and I hope you're still out there. My poor fics! None of them have gotten the attention they deserved for the past few months, and neither have you. I humbly beg your pardon. There's no excuse other than writer's block. But I've made a breakthrough! It's a book about writing fiction called _From Where You Dream_ by Robert Olen Butler. Check out my profile page for some useful quotes from the book.


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